He's a Keeper
by Zo One
Summary: Alfred's had his pen pal, Arthur, since the second grade. But now he's becoming a man and he wants to meet his best friend, hidden behind paper and emails. What he didn't expect was the longing long distance brought. USUKUS
1. Prologue

**He's a Keeper**

_Prologue_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland

* * *

><p><em>Daer Pen Pal<em>

_My Naem is ALFRED F. JONES. I am in 2 grade. My favrite things is hambergers and football and my dog His naem is Spike and I like carots. But you cant tell no one! Its not cool to like carots you know?_

_My techer says I haveto put here that I live in UNITED STATES in NEBASKRA the statE. Yep._

_Writ back_

_ALFRED_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Alfred,<em>

_My name is Arthur Kirkland. I live in London, England, which is in the United Kingdom. I think I received your letter by mistake. I am in my sixth year._

_I highly suggest you work on your spelling. It doesn't seem to be your strong point._

_It is okay to like carrots, I like them myself. But my favourite vegetables are pickled cabbages. _

_Your Pen Pal,_

_Arthur Kirkland_

* * *

><p>And that was how it all started; with one horribly misspelled letter, and a strangely forgiving response. Whenever Alfred thought about it now, he was surprised that Arthur had ever responded to him in the first place. He must have been a lot more kind and calm when he was kid.<p>

At the time, Alfred had only been seven and Arthur was ten. It was strange – at least Alfred thought so – that his small elementary school of thirty students (Kindergarten through Fourth Grade), even had an international pen pal program. But from what he understood, Arthur's school of over a thousand students liked the idea of American pen pals that live in the middle of nowhere. Not that Alfred minded. He figured there was a reason Arthur was his pen pal (although more recently it had become more and more email pals). And Alfred wasn't the type of person to ignore fate.

The young American laughed bitterly to himself as he went through his Friday ritual when he returned home from school, rifling through the mail as he walked up the excruciatingly long driveway to the front door of his house. Almost immediately he spotted an envelope he knew to be from Arthur. It was a plain envelope with nothing more than his name and address and a return address. But the red and blue stripes along the edges of the envelope and the strange – yet sometimes amusing – stamps that stuck half-heartedly to the paper, gave it away.

"Pa, I'm home," he shouted when he made it inside, tossing the rest of the mail onto the kitchen table. He immediately went to his room, shucking his backpack off and dropping it onto the floor before falling unceremoniously onto his bed, letter in his hands as his fingers worked expertly to open the parcel without damaging the paper within.

It wasn't often that he and Arthur actually wrote each other letters these days. And when they did it was to send silly things like photos, gifts and sometimes Alfred liked to send his English friend some crayon drawings (an inside joke they shared about Alfred's mentality). So he was curious to see what Arthur had up his sleeve.

_Alfred_, the letter started out – they were long past the stages of using 'Dear' – and Alfred smiled nostalgically at the swooping, cursive that was Arthur's handwriting.

_I found this while visiting a museum in downtown London. They had a new exhibit over WWII, so naturally I had to visit and see it for myself. It wasn't horrid – they surprisingly had a few interesting sets of old military uniforms. The odd part was that there was an American Air Force uniform with the name 'Jones' stitched into the neck. Perhaps you had relatives that fought overseas? Although I presume that Jones is a common last name. _

_But that is neither here nor there. Back to the reason for this letter: As I was going through the gift shop, I found these American dog tag replicas and thought of you. They asked if I wanted to have a name stencilled onto them, but I thought that that would be going a little overboard. Look, they have an Eagle on one side. That should be good enough._

_Also, I don't know when this letter will reach you (I'm guessing anywhere from January 2__nd__ to the 9__th__), and… It's the sixth year anniversary, so I know you're probably upset – or moping. I wanted to cheer you up. She is in our thoughts, Alfred._

_When you get this, email me; I want to know if you like it._

_Arthur_

Alfred couldn't contain the grin that spread across his face as his fingers dusted the bottom of the envelope and pulled out the clinking dog tags on a thin, metal chain. His thumb grazed gently over the eagle stenciling on one side, while the other side remained blank for name and address. Happily he pulled it over his head, admiring them once more before tucking them under his shirt.

Out of habit and routine, Alfred got up from his bed and shuffled to his closet, pulling out a fat shoebox from the top shelf and placing Arthur's letter inside – along with all the other ones that Arthur had sent him over the years. He was on his fourth shoebox. Ten years was a long time.

Now he had to email Arthur and let him know that the dog tags were _amazing_. He slipped out of his room and made way towards the basement where the family computer was located. One day he'd invest in a laptop, but seeing as he was still in high school (Senior year, mind you), he still couldn't afford much beyond gas and a couple spare bucks to save up for video games. When he graduated, he was definitely going to get a job. Well, hopefully.

Before he could sneak off into the basement, he bodily collided into someone else. He laughed to try and mask his irritation. "Oops! My bad."

"Oh, Al, I didn't know you were home already," Matthew, his cousin, replied airily, waving around a hand passively. "Have you seen your dad anywhere?" Alfred scratched at his sandy blond locks, his nose wrinkling a bit as he thought. "I guess that's a no. Today's… well, you know. He's probably at the bar, eh?"

Alfred deflated a little bit. "Ah… Yeah, he probably is." He grimaced and shrugged as they both shared a look. For only being cousins, Matthew and Alfred were remarkably similar, with sandy blond hair, strong jaw lines, a sweet upturn to their noses; the only physical differences they had were that Matthew grew his hair longer, and Alfred's eyes were as blue as the clearest sky, while Matthew's were darker – almost purple in the right light. Not to mention Matthew was a year older than Alfred, not that Alfred liked to admit it. "You should probably pick him up."

Matthew nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Last year I had to pour him into the backseat."

"Damn… Okay, well I've got to send off an email, and then I'll go ahead and finish Pa's chores. Don't worry about it," he said easily, shrugging off Matthew's worried looks. "I'll be okay." He paused. "Can we have hamburgers for dinner tonight?"

His cousin gave a gentle laugh. "Sure. Let me find your dad… I hope he didn't get too far…"

Alfred watched Matthew leave, twirling his keys around on his finger before hopping into the old, beat up truck they used mostly for hauling wood and crops and taking off down the driveway. He sighed a little mournfully. Six whole damn years… Alfred quickly crushed that line of thought and rushed down to the basement, booting up the computer with a sigh, and sat in his favorite swiveling office chair, spinning around multiple times as he waited.

Quickly he logged on and opened his email, composing a new message with ingrained familiarity.

**To: Arthur Kirkland (Mystic_Grimoire a yahoo . co . uk);**

**Yo! I got your letter today! And I love the dog tags! I'm going to see if I can't find a place where I can get my info stenciled on them – at least my name. So, basically… THANK YOU SO MUCH! Today's… you know. Pa's missing, Matt's out to find him, and so I've got chores to keep up on, or the cows are going to be ornery tomorrow.**

**By the way, I graduate in **_**FOUR **_**months! FOUR! Six until my birthday! And then I can legally drink in your country. :P **

**Anyway, I'm off to herd some cows. Nova's probably fixin' for a good workout. Someday you'd really have to visit the ranch. I'm telling you, it's not as bad as I make it sound. ANYWAY… Later.**

**P.S. I sooo used spell-check!**

**Alfred**

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

Arthur smiled lightly as his phone alerted him to a new mail message, the smile widened further when he noticed it was from Alfred. Good, his package had perfect timing. He glanced around the darkened, busy street, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his overcoat as his grip on his umbrella tightened. He disliked how rainy January could be. But he supposed it was better than snow.

Finally he spotted a small café that was still open and ducked inside, he ordered the daily tea special they offered in a to-go cup and took a seat in the corner of the cozy café. He plucked his phone from his pocket and set it on his table before shedding his slightly damp coat. John could wait an extra fifteen minutes to move his couch, although Arthur was pretty sure he could do it himself.

Arthur tapped the screen of his phone to wake it from its sleep mode and opened the email. He read the short letter with a small smile. Alfred had a way of doing that – making him smile. Ten years was a long time to know someone without actually knowing them. His brothers thought it was strange, queer even, but Arthur didn't care. He didn't care because he knew that Alfred would never judge him, would never leave him so suddenly, and would never laugh maliciously at his faults. And Arthur wouldn't give that up for the world.

Distracted, he hit the reply button. He disliked sending emails via his phone (it took so much longer to type out a proper message), but he'd make an exception for Alfred today.

**To: Alfred F. Jones (all . american . guy a cox . net);**

**I'm glad you enjoy the gift, Alfred. Try taking it to a jewellery store. They do engravings, and if they can't stencil your name, perhaps they'll know somewhere that can. Sorry to hear about your father. I hope for your sake, that it turns out better than last year. **

**I thought you said the cows are always stubborn?**

**Maybe you should come to England, then. I know where all the best pubs are – I'll give you a guided tour. **

**Give Nova a scratch behind the ear for me. **

**Arthur**

**P.S. Congratulations.**

Once he was sure that the message sent, he stood from his seat and wandered up to the counter for his tea before heading back out into the drizzling rain towards his brother's flat. The small smile that had placed itself on his face when reading Alfred's email slowly settled back into his custom scowl as he navigated the streets, sipping on his tea as he went.

John's flat was on the third floor, unlocked, and a right mess – as always. Arthur grimaced as he stepped inside, side-stepping a pile of dirty laundry by the doorway. "John?" he called out, hooking his umbrella on the coat rack, along with his overcoat. "John are you here?" he tried again, toeing off his shoes. He glanced around the flat. It looked like a monsoon had washed through the small space.

There was a low grumble from further inside the flat, and Arthur maneuvered around empty boxes of takeout, beer bottles, clothes – and he wasn't sure what _that _was. "John? What are you doing?" he asked, exasperated as he found his older brother lounging face first on the sofa that was supposed to be moved.

John grumbled again, turning his face to the side to look at Arthur with bloodshot eyes. "Urhh, the 'mote… stuck under th' couch…" He blinked slowly, pushing his hands against the worn, striped cushions. "Can't seemta reach…?"

"You're pissed," Arthur said flatly, standing over John with his hands on his hips. Of course, why else would John even bother speaking with him? He frowned heavily. "I'm not moving the couch for you. Get up and do it yourself."

Arthur's brother sighed angrily, ruffling his fingers through his red hair. "'M not." He stuck his face back into the couch cushions. "I hate you," he howled suddenly as Arthur began clearing a space to sit. "I always hated you!"

"Mmhmm," Arthur hummed in response, pulling a chair from the kitchenette and setting it in the cleared spot. "That's why you called me over."

"Yeah…" John turned to face Arthur again, who now sat on the wooden chair with his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl marring his features. "I hadta tell ya… Can't… don't want you ta think I… I _like _ya or something…"

Arthur nodded. How many times had they been over this? Too many for him to count. He crossed his legs as well, settling John with a sharp, displeased glare. "Yes, I know. Pray tell, John, why are you drinking so heavily tonight?"

For a moment John simply stared at Arthur as if he couldn't figure out why or how his youngest blond brother even got into his home. "I miss Oliver!" he wailed suddenly, smashing his face once more into the cushion. Arthur rolled his eyes. "W-why did he haveta go an' leave us like that?"

"Because, John, it's his _job_."

John sat up quickly, swaying visibly as he attempted to glare at Arthur. "I tol' him not ta join up – military… Fuck!"

Arthur sat back in his chair, watching John struggle with half phrased vulgarities and curses. Oliver, their brother, had joined the British Army about three years ago, much to everyone's surprise. Arthur had been confused as to what prompted the sudden decision, and when he asked Alfred about it all those years ago, the American had simply responded: 'It's about being a part of something greater than yourself.' Arthur sincerely hoped that Alfred wouldn't get any irrational ideas and sign himself up. "It's not like he's going to be across the pond forever, John," Arthur said coolly, attempting to reason with his Scottish brother.

He was never that lucky. "He's in fucking _America_!" John cried, his hand flying around until it came to rest on the neck of a bottle. "'Merica… fulla loons and… and… fat arses… Poor Ol'ver."

"Right. Recall that he said he'd only be in D.C. for two years? Only a year and ten months and he'll be back home. It's nothing to drink yourself stupid over."

John gave Arthur a hazy, shifting glare. "What would ya know? Wha- wit' yer queer 'merican friend. He… he prolly ain't even real!" John viciously pointed at Arthur, who immediately sat up straight in his chair at the insult towards Alfred. "I betcha he's fake! Like… like, them unicorns ya used to talk 'bout. Fucking queer!"

In a flash, Arthur was on his feet, ripping the half full bottle of ale from his brother's hand. "Shut up, you bleeding windbag," Arthur hissed, grasping the collar of John's shirt and pulling him close. "I suggest you sleep this off and never, _never _call me again; or I won't hesitate to drown you in your own bathtub." He pushed John away, and the redhead flopped back onto the worn couch with a belated stupor. "Do I make myself clear?"

John nodded stupidly as Arthur straightened his clothes, grabbed his coat and umbrella from the coat rack and left after stomping into his shoes. He could feel the anger roiling through his veins, and his hands shook from suppressed rage. How dare he call Alfred fake! Arthur sighed to himself as he stalked his way back to his own flat.

With shaking hands he set a kettle of water on the stove to boil. He needed tea to calm himself down, but even the promise of tea didn't soothe him. Maybe he had gotten a little defensive over Alfred – just a tad.

Something akin to guilt wedged itself in the spaces between his ribs. He leaned against the kitchen counter and fished his phone from his pocket once more, tapping along the screen until he found what he was looking for.

**[Arthur]**

**My brother John just said you are not real. Should I really be this mad?**

**[Message sent 11:36 PM]**

Arthur sighed when the text message sent, allowing his head to roll back as he examined his ceiling with a calm gaze. Even if Alfred didn't respond right away with assurances, he already felt remarkably better. It probably wasn't normal, but Arthur didn't care at the moment. Soon he would have his tea and then shortly after he would be on his way to bed. Yes, that sounded wonderful.

**[Alfred]**

**Of course you should be! Im so real it hurts! Btw, youre up late, I can still see the sun here. Get sum sleep. And ty for the dog tags. Youre awesome!**

**[Message received 11:42 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**I'm sitting for tea soon, and then off to bed. It's been a long day. I'll wish you goodnight in about seven hours.**

**[Message sent 11:45 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Wen ur getting rdy for work? Srry, shouldnt txt n ride Nova at the sme time. Shes gettin twitchy. :P Have a nice sleep.**

**[Message received 11:57 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**When I find out your cause of death was trampling, I won't be surprised. Focus on work, I'm off to bed.**

**[Message sent 12:01 AM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Sleep tight!**

**[Message received 12:04 AM]**

* * *

><p>- <span>In the Midwest<span> -

Alfred stuffed his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, standing up on the saddle's stirrups to do so. Nova whinnied gently as she trotted along the pasture at a leisurely pace, dipping her muzzle every here and there to nibble at long grasses that had dried out long ago. Alfred suppressed a yawn and shaded his eyes against the sun with a hand. The cattle had wandered pretty far out into the field today, which wasn't surprising; it had been good weather – not too hot, not too cold, and just a brisk, winter breeze. Thankfully the snow had melted away into a mild winter (although that meant nothing now; they could have six feet of snow in three weeks).

He allowed Nova to trot along, scratching along her mane with his free hand until he spotted the tail end of their herd. Alfred whistled and tapped the heels of his boots into Nova's sides, stirring her into an easy canter as he approached the herd, circling around them until he was sure he'd found the best way to begin.

Soon enough, he pressed Nova towards the herd, making them reluctantly turn back around towards the feed barn. Once the majority of the cattle were turned, he whooped loudly, a sudden bark of his voice that startled many of the steer. Happily he rode behind the moving herd, whooping when necessary and tossing an untied rope at those that didn't find him frightening enough.

Nova licked her lips in contentment, leaning forward and nipping at a female steer that was lagging behind the rest. Alfred laughed, ruffling the Thoroughbred's mane in affection. He sat back in the saddle, running the rough rope through his gloved hands, the winter chill stinging his cheeks and giving them a healthy glow. As soon as the pasture gates came into view, his phone began to ring, obnoxiously playing _Dude (Looks Like a Lady)_. Nova's ears pinned back at him, and she tossed her head in annoyance. "Ah, sorry girl," he apologized, standing up and pulling his phone from his pocket. "It's just Matt. He probably found Pa by now."

He sat back in the saddle, whooping again at the cattle for good measure. If steer could talk, he was pretty sure they'd be saying, "Yeah, yeah, we get it already, hush." He laughed, leaning down and swatting a slowing steer on the hindquarters. Quickly he glanced at his phone, thumbing through his options until he revealed his new text message.

**[Matticus]**

**Hey, I found your dad… Uhm… It's not pretty. He's asking for you, but I told him you'd be out for a while yet. Take your time.**

**[Message received 5:46PM]**

Alfred frowned deeply. Distractedly he maneuvered Nova to the gate, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he dismounted, ushering the few remaining cattle through the open bars. Nova wandered up to the barred fence, nipping at a few of the cattle through the bars as Alfred worked on closing the gate and latching it closed. He glanced up at Nova, then out towards the field. Alfred pulled his phone from his pocket once more.

**[Me]**

**Ya. Ill b gone 4 a whle. Takin nova on the trails. Txt me bk when hes sleepin ok? I dont want to deal with him when hes like this.**

**[Message sent 6:12PM]**

**[Matticus]**

…**Okay. Be careful. Try not to stay out after dark, okay? I'm making hamburgers, remember?**

**[Message received 6:13PM]**

With a sigh – it would be dark in half an hour – he set his phone to vibrate and pocketed it once more. "All right Nova, it's just you, me, and six hundred acres," he said, turning to the horse with a pinched look. "Let's go for a ride."

As if sensing his mood, Nova walked up to him, nibbling softly on his sandy blond hair and skewing his glasses in the process. Alfred laughed and scratched her just beneath the cheek piece of her bridle – Nova's favorite scratching spot. She heavily leaned into his hand, nearly knocking him over. "By the way," he muttered, moving his hand to scratch behind her ear, earning a happy toss of Nova's head, "That's from Arthur. He says hi."

Nova licked her lips as Alfred took up the reins and pat her on the small white splotch of fur between her eyes (one that Alfred _swore _looked like an eagle in flight – if you squinted), and mounted once again. Eagerly he dug his heels into Nova's sides, beyond happy that she was so side sensitive, and grinned as she took off down the empty field at a gallop.

The winter wind howled in his ears as he bent low over Nova's neck. He led her towards the back of the pasture, towards the gates that led into the small forest filled with winding trails. Alfred couldn't wait until summer, when he could properly go through the trails – camping out overnight with Nova under the stars.

Eager, he ushered Nova inside the leafless forest, ignoring the quickly sinking sun behind him.

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

Arthur woke up at five thirty. He breathed in deeply, his hand brushing in a blind search across his nightstand for his blaring phone. It took a minute for him to find it, and when he did, he jabbed the 'dismiss alarm' button with more force than was truly necessary.

As per routine he pulled himself from his bed and practically crawled into the shower to attempt to wake up before sitting for tea.

Feeling refreshed after a hot shower, Arthur plucked his phone from the nightstand, rifling through his contacts.

**[Arthur]**

**Good morning, Alfred. Hope your day was well.**

**[Message sent 5:54AM]**

He set the device back down before heading to his closet and picking out an appropriate suit for work. Today he felt like green. Just as he pulled the suit from his closet, his phone sounded off and he sent it a confused look. Alfred hardly ever responded so promptly to his morning texts. It was one in the morning over there, and if Alfred wasn't half asleep and delusional at this time, he was too busy shoving his nose against a telly screen, playing those blasted video games of his.

Curious, he set his suit on the foot of his bed and picked up his phone again.

**[Alfred]**

**Hey, Arthur. This is Matthew, Alfred's cousin. I have Al's phone. He's in the ER right now… it's nothing serious. No need to worry.**

**[Message received 5:56 AM]**

**[Arthur]**

**In the Emergency Room! What the hell happened? He didn't get trampled by that bloody horse, did he? Matthew, I demand answers!**

**[Message sent 6:07 AM]**

Arthur stared hard at his phone for eight minutes, pacing the length of his bedroom before giving up when no answer came. This was definitely _not _something he wanted to hear first thing in the morning. He tried to force himself to calm down, tossing his phone onto the pillow on the bed as he scooped up his suit and began dressing for the morning.

Alfred was fine, Arthur told himself over and over as he straightened his tie for the sixth time. Alfred was not sitting in some darkened hospital bleeding out on a gurney. "Or is he?" He groaned, running his fingers through his messy blond locks before yanking on a few strands in anger. "That git," he growled to himself as he decided to forgo his morning tea as his stomach was twisted into painful knots.

He grabbed his overcoat and umbrella before heading out the door. Why was this bothering him so much? He grimaced further, tucking himself into his coat. Alfred was fine, and even if he wasn't (God forbid), it's not like Arthur should care. The American was more of an _idea _than a person to him. But… even ideas could be cherished.

**[Arthur]**

**Alfred, Matthew, whoever has your bloody phone, someone had better tell me what happened, if Alfred's well, and why the hell no one told me sooner. I expect a f**

**[Message sent 6:36 AM]**

**[Arthur]**

**ull explanation before the end of the day, or… or I'll curse you, Alfred. Don't think I won't.**

**[Message sent 6:37 AM]**

Arthur allowed his furious anger pour from his body as he stabbed the keys on his phone. He finished his upset message in the foyer of his office building, setting the device onto silent before slipping it into his pocket with a look of nonchalance. He didn't need any of his coworkers thinking any more mentally unstable than they already did.

Quickly he made his way to the lift, riding to the sixth floor and inserting himself into his staple cubicle. This wasn't what he had hoped for in life – some dry office job. But a job was a job; it paid the rent and sucked away his motivation for ever finding anything greater. With a frown he booted up the office computer.

"Hon, hon, hon! And look who decides to work on Saturdays! What an excellent sheep you make, Arthur."

Arthur glanced behind himself sharply, definitely _not _in the mood to deal with people, let alone French people by the name of Francis. "Speak for yourself, frog," he spat with more venom than he had originally intended. It's not like he came in because he _wanted _to. If the higher ups wanted to offer paid overtime, then fucking hell, he was going to nab himself some extra cash. "I'm only here for a half day, anyway," he added for good measure.

Francis watched him with careful blue eyes, deciding to fill the silence by pulling his wavy blond hair into a loose ponytail as he thought. "Is something the matter, _mon ami_?" he asked gently as Arthur sat in his chair heavily, opening a manila folder that lay on his desk with more force than necessary, nearly spilling the meticulous spreadsheets within.

"Don't even pretend to be my friend, Francis," Arthur bit out, swerving his chair around to put his back to the Frenchman. "Mind your own business for once."

How long Francis stood there, staring at the back of his head, Arthur didn't know. But by the time he looked up from his work (two hours later) the other blond was nowhere in sight, and Arthur relaxed. It wasn't as if he disliked Francis (well, he did, but what they had was a twisted version of a love-hate relationship), but he wasn't well off with other people in general. He was too moody, too assertive, and too _strange_. People didn't know how to react around him, and he around them.

But then there was Alfred. What if he _had _met Alfred? Would the American find him repulsive? Or simply even too odd to be around? His thoughts turned pensive for a moment, but he was interrupted by an alert notification on his computer. He had two new mail messages. Carefully he opened his email, seeing with increased pleasure an email from Alfred and then another from… Francis? Odd indeed.

**From: Alfred F. Jones (all . american . guy a cox . net);**

**Hey Arthur this is Al. im kinda tired right now. morphine does that. oh and it's 2 in the morning here. But to explain coz i did get your texts sorry I didn't kno matt had my cell. I broke my right arm the … the one that starts with a u. I have a cool cast. i talked the doc into wrappin with 2 different colors. its red and blue and the stuffing is white haha it's a flag. Oh but yeah… i broke it while out on the trails with nova. It was dark and she spooked whn a coon skittered past her feet. I fell but my foot got caught in the stirrup so she dragged me awhile. lucky all i broke was my arm. novas a good gal and stopped b4 anything perment could happen… neway. now u know so don't worry. i wonder if i could photocopy ur signature on my cast. that would be so awesome. love ya art.**

**Alfred**

For a long moment Arthur simply stared at the computer screen blankly, uncomprehending of the jumbled sentences before his eyes. But then his confused brain focused on one sentence in particular, reading it over and over until he thought his head might explode from sheer confusion. "love ya art".

Desperate to stop thinking about the implications of one, sleepy, drug induced sentence, he closed out of the window and began a new message altogether.

**To: Alfred F. Jones (all . american . guy a cox . net);**

**Alfred, my dear, silly git. I thought you were half dead based on the lack of report from either you or Matthew. I suppose you're lucky you don't have school for the next couple of days. Enjoy your weekend.**

He sent the message before he could spout anything else stupid. _Enjoy your weekend? _For heaven's sake, the boy just broke his arm and that's the best he can come up with? He groaned with frustration at his own lack of proper social skills when it came to strange circumstances. Meetings, etiquette, first impressions – those were the types of things he could handle with grace. Not comforting an American boy over the internet, hell, he probably couldn't even do that in person.

With a distressed and silent moan, he opened Francis' email just to give himself something to take his mind off Alfred.

**From: Francis Bonnefoy (francis . bonnefoy a bindue . fr)**

**Arthur,**

**You seem in particular distress this morning, and I cannot help but to take notice. I extend to you an invitation to drinks whenever you feel you can.**

**Francis**

Arthur frowned and deleted the message altogether. He didn't need anyone's pity. He was Arthur Kirkland; he didn't need anyone – not their pity, nor their company.

All he needed were his letters from one obnoxious American boy. And he supposed he could live with that.

- Prologue End -

* * *

><p><em>Unimportant Notes: <em>They say you should write about things you know. I know about long distance relationships, pen pals, ranch life, bat-shit friends and romps in the hay barn. Also, unbeta'd (please let me know if I messed up – I'm a fixer), and now I'm late for work. Such a shame.


	2. Chapter One: Between

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter One: Between_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Conner – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles

* * *

><p>The day whittled away at an excruciatingly slow pace for Arthur. Numbers and notes jumbled into illegible blurs before his eyes as he attempted to concentrate on work. He grumbled venomously to himself for a few minutes before simply deciding that he wasn't going to get anything done now, and gathered up his things, leaving only four hours after arriving.<p>

As he walked down the streets, he found himself constantly looking up at the sky for even the slightest hints of rain, despite the fact that the day was bright with only the slightest chill. But it was his mood that almost called out for it to rain, so he could hide away under his umbrella and sprint back to his flat without looking like an utter loon. He wanted Alfred to be awake _right now_ and in the proper state of mind to hold a decent conversation. But it was only five in the morning there, and Alfred had the habit of sleeping in on weekends (not to mention he's drugged up on pain killers).

Arthur made his way into the nearest café, ordering the daily lunch special and taking a seat in the corner of the shop. He fiddled with his phone between anxious and jittery fingers as he sat, waiting for a meal he probably wouldn't taste anyway. There had to be something wrong with him.

**[Arthur]**

**Alfred, when you're feeling better, please text me.**

**[Message sent 12:34 AM]**

He frowned as the message sent. It had sounded rather impersonal. Maybe he should have tacked on an "I'm worried about you", or something along those lines. Arthur shook his head. No, there was no need, this was Alfred. Alfred wouldn't care – he would read between the lines, or just make up a meaning for his own benefit. And it was that thought that set him at ease as his food and steaming cup of blueberry tea were set before him.

* * *

><p>- <span>In the Midwest<span> -

Alfred groaned as he rolled over in bed, his blankets tangling around his legs as he wiggled to try and get comfortable. The sun streamed in merrily through his window at just the perfect angle to get in his eyes. "Mrrgh," he moaned to himself, tossing an arm over his face like usual to block out the sunlight for at least another five minutes. What he had forgotten was the thick, blue and red cast on his arm, and he cried out in shock when he accidently decked himself in the face with it.

"Ow, shit, ow," he whined, sitting up and clutching his nose with his left hand. Quickly he wiped his face and checked his hand. Good, no blood. He would've been mortified if the first thing he did with his cast was give himself a bloody nose. With sleepy eyes he scooped up his glasses and his phone from the floor next to his bed.

As he settled his glasses on his face, he quickly checked his phone, seeing that he missed three messages in the middle of the night – which was odd. Who the heck texted people at four in the morning? He yawned and opened the first message.

**[Father Feliciano]**

**Alfred! My brother told me what happened! I hope you're feeling better! We'll pray for your quick recovery!**

**[Message received 3:45 AM]**

Wow, what? His pastor already knew he'd broken his arm? Alfred rubbed at his cast in thought. Ah, that was right; the doctor – the only one for miles and miles – was Dr. Vargas, Father Feliciano's brother. And damn, if everyone didn't know by now, they were definitely going to know by Sunday. Sometimes he hated living in a small town – well, technically it was a village, but admitting you lived in a village was like saying you grew up in a closet. Everyone knew everyone or was related to everyone, and your business was their business.

He didn't remember giving Feliciano his cell phone number…

**[Me]**

**Thank you Father. It's much appreciated.**

**[Message sent 1:08 PM]**

**[Señor C.]**

**Lovi told me what happened! How awful! I'll find someone to take notes for you~! 3 Toni**

**[Message received 4:45 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Thanks Mr. C… See you in class on Monday.**

**[Message sent 1:09 PM]**

Great, even his _teacher _knew what happened. Dr. Vargas sure was a loudmouth. He should've convinced Matt to drive an extra hour to a different hospital. Not that Matt would've agreed. He would've just spouted something about how he needed immediate and proper treatment and then would've gone on a tangent about something he learned in class back when he was in Canada or about Canadian healthcare. Because everything Matt ever talked about came back to Canada one way or another.

**[King Arthur]**

**Alfred, when you're feeling better, please text me.**

**[Message received 5:34 AM]**

Alfred paused in slight shock after reading the simple message. Arthur never, _ever_ texted him during the night, usually for fear of being impolite and waking him up. Was he sick? Was it an emergency? Was he worried? Alfred squinted at the message in suspicion. Maybe Arthur was testing him – it was possible, he knew Arthur to occasionally get a wild hair up his ass and do things completely out of the ordinary for the sake of his own amusement. But this really didn't seem like the time for that…

Curious, Alfred set his phone aside and began getting dressed. Maybe Arthur sent him a response email – although he couldn't exactly remember what he said in his own email. He did send one, right?

Hiding a yawn behind his hand, he shuffled out of his room and towards the kitchen on his way to the basement computer. "Oh, Alfred, you're awake," Matthew greeted, calmly placing himself between Alfred and the basement door. A bowl of half mixed pancake batter sat unattended on the kitchen counter. "How're you feeling?"

"Uh, I'm okay? Just a bit tired." He frowned and scratched at his cast – it was starting to get old; fast. "Uhm, what's up?" he decided to ask cautiously. Matthew was starting to act strange lately, and if he knew his cousin, he knew that Matthew liked to bottle everything up until it just exploded. It was a trait they shared.

His older cousin just shrugged, his face taking on a stern look, although he still had a gentle air about him. "When was the last time you talked to your dad?" he demanded out of the blue.

Alfred winced at the question. "Ah… to Pa? Uhm… I don't know? I think on Wednesday. Why?"

"Don't you think that's a little too long to ignore him?" Matthew's arms folded across his chest and Alfred didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry at the situation. "He's a person, too, Alfred. You can't just treat him like a dog that pissed on the floor one too many times!"

"Shut up!" Alfred roared, his hands digging into his sandy blond hair in frustration. "Shut the_ fuck_ up, Matt! You don't know anything! He's just your goddamn experiment! What the fuck do you care!" Matthew's eyes narrowed behind his rounded glasses. Before the older blond could say anything, Alfred turned around, intent on stomping back in his room, or outside, or anywhere but _there_.

As soon as he spun around, however, he froze. He felt as if his blood suddenly began to flow in reverse and he bit his lip. Alfred's Pa stood, leaning against the archway back towards Alfred's room. His shaggy blond hair was ruffled and tangled; a prominent five o' clock shadow stuck stubbornly to his strong chin. His blue eyes were bloodshot and tired as he looked in on the argument with an impassive stare.

"Din mean ta int'rupt," the man grumbled out, running a hand through his hair slowly.

Alfred turned back around to Matthew, who was frowning heavily. "You didn't interrupt _anything_," Alfred hissed, grabbing a handful of Matthew's shirt and forcibly removing him from the basement doorway. Quickly he slipped in the door before Matthew could regain his balance and slammed it shut. Scowling he stomped as loudly and obnoxiously as he could down the stairs. When he booted up the computer, he could vaguely hear Matthew trying to pacify his Pa with excuses of, "He's just tired – the pain medicine is probably affecting his mood. No… it's _not _your fault…" And honestly, it shouldn't piss him off as much as it did.

**From: Arthur Kirkland (Mystic_Grimoire a yahoo . co . uk);**

**Alfred, my dear, silly git. I thought you were half dead based on the lack of report from either you or Matthew. I suppose you're lucky you don't have school for the next couple of days. Enjoy your weekend.**

Well, that certainly wasn't what he had expected, he thought to himself as he thumbed through his inbox. He only allowed himself to relax once the footsteps upstairs receded, and Alfred returned his focus back onto the short email. This wasn't like Arthur – well, it was, but normally Arthur had a way with words, and this seemed to be lacking his normal flair. For a moment he wondered if Arthur was okay. Maybe something stressful was going on at work? He tapped the keyboard in thought before deciding to just reply and let his English friend know that no, he wasn't dead.

**To: Arthur Kirkland (Mystic_Grimoire a yahoo . co . uk);**

**Hey Arthur! I'm not at my phone right now, so when you get this, email me back. I'm doing great! I'm just tired and not used to this cast. I hit myself in the face when I woke up this morning… afternoon. The next six weeks are going to suck. Half the town already knows I broke it, and I haven't even left the house. It's kinda annoying, but I guess they'd all find out anyway.**

**I CAN'T wait to turn eighteen! Then I'll officially be a legal adult! And then I can drink in your country!**

**Hey, I just had an idea. I think for my birthday, I'm going to buy myself a trip to England. I have six months to save up… I'll stop buying video games! I don't know… It's weird. I want to meet you, Arthur! We've been pals for going on eleven years now, so I guess it's only fair that I'd want to meet you in person! **

**Whaddya say? If I just showed up in England one day, would you meet me there?**

**Alfred**

He sat back with a small smile as he sent the message. The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. He _could _go to England. He could meet his best friend (for the first time ever), and he could get away from the ranch and from Matthew and his Pa… He opened up the Google search engine and typed in 'Airfare from USA to England' and winced. Well, this was going to a challenge.

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

Arthur sat on his bed, his laptop across his thighs as he lounged against his pillows. He had thought of an interesting plot for a story and thought that maybe he could try his hand at writing tonight. It was always like that. He'd think of something simply _amazing_, so rounded and dynamic in his head, but as soon he attempted to convert it to paper, he lost it, the beautiful worlds and plots and one-liners slipping through his fingers like sand.

He wanted to be a writer, maybe. Arthur paused. No, he just wanted to _write_. Whether or not he received recognition, he cared little. But as he opened his new email from Alfred, he was too busy trying not to choke on his own spit in surprise to worry about his lack of talent or inspiration.

"He wants to _what_?" he asked himself incredulously, rereading the email two more times to convince his eyes that that was really what he had read. "Here? He wants to come here?" Arthur frowned at the sound of his own voice. He was going to have to get a cat so he could at least _pretend _he wasn't talking to himself. Determined to deter Alfred from his neurotic notion, he clicked the reply button hastily.

**To: Alfred F. Jones (all . american . guy a cox . net);**

**Alfred, don't be silly. A round trip flight to England isn't something to be bought lightly, nor is it something you can do on a whim. Why don't you sleep on it for a week or so before deciding something like that?**

**By the by, I've been thinking of getting a cat to keep me company in my flat. They're allowed, but I believe I'd have to pay a fee. What do you suggest? Which reminds me, my neighbour stopped by earlier and gave me a delicious cream pie. He said he'd made too many (for what occasion I haven't a clue) and simply asked that I return the pan when I am finished. I must say, I prefer my own cooking – especially when it comes to sweets, but he's not horrible either.**

**I think my luck has been turning up. **

**Arthur**

For the next hour he emailed Alfred back and forth, and if the American noticed or minded the subject change, he didn't say anything – for which Arthur was grateful. He didn't want to have to _explain_ why it would be so… uncomfortable, for Alfred to just show up in England one day. What would he say? What would they do? Would Alfred even like him? There were too many unknowns, and Arthur wasn't one to often deviate from the norm.

Besides, everything was perfect the way it was.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until two weeks later when Arthur's whole view on life was altered. Perhaps he was being (very) over dramatic, but he couldn't help but stare at the email on his screen in mute horror – or at least, he supposed it was horror, this odd feeling that managed to writhe its way into his chest and force him to take dumbfounded, uneven breaths.<p>

**From: Alfred F. Jones (all . american . guy a cox . net);**

**Yo Arthur! It's been a great day! Remember how I said Señor C. found someone to take notes for me? Turns out she's really cute! Her name is Angaleek or something… w/e I call her Angie, she doesn't mind! But today I, being as awesome as I am, asked her out and… (This is dramatic effect, Arthur)!**

**She said YES!**

**Here look, I sent an attachment. That's a pic of us by the school. Ain't she cute? :P**

**Btw, I've been butterin' up Pa about going to England for my birthday (what, did u think I forgot? NOPE!). He's getting tired of me askin', but he said if I can save up for it, then he's no right to tell me I can't coz I'll be an adult and can make my own decisions. If I can pull some extra cash in from ranch work and helpin round the town – and if Stanley (remember that baby cow I told ya I was raising?) wins that contest ($500 cash prize!), I'll definitely be able to pull it off! So whaddya say Arthur! I'm all aboard for this thing, how about you?**

**Alfred**

Arthur sat back in his bed, unable to think of an appropriate response. Something inside him wanted to open a new message and type a forty seven page reply that said, _ no no no no no no! oh HELL NO!_ And where that urge came from, he didn't know. Instead he glanced out the window, noting that it was already dark on Saturday night. He didn't have to work tomorrow…

Slowly, and against his better judgment, he opened the attachment Alfred had sent.

He could recognize Alfred immediately from many of the pictures they'd sent each other back and forth. Although it had been awhile since they'd sent each other anything. The blond American was giving his normal, cheesy grin, his hair still the same ruffled blond with a Nantucket that Alfred swears he can't get rid of. Arthur took his time reacquainting himself with Alfred's image. Sometimes it was hard to remember a person's face or smile after only seeing them through paper and email for so long.

But his entire sense of nostalgia turned cold and dropped unpleasantly into the pit of his stomach when he finally glanced at the young girl that hung herself off Alfred's arm. _Like some trophy wife_, he thought bitterly. Arthur shook his head. It's not like he cared – he had nothing to be upset over. The brunette girl in the photo now seemed to be leering up at him through the screen of his laptop and he closed out of the picture hastily.

He needed to do something to take his mind off this – off Alfred and his stupidity. Quickly he opened a reply message, but his fingers merely hovered over his computer keys. There wasn't anything he wanted to say, at least nothing positive. And this was Alfred he was talking to… He couldn't just… just…

**To: Alfred F. Jones (all . american . guy a cox . net);**

**She's fucking adorable.**

As he sent the message, he felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of sticky tar. Arthur shut his laptop with shaking hands. Was he angry? Scared? Nervous? He couldn't tell.

There was something wrong with him, he deduced after pacing the length of his room several times; something inexplicitly wrong. He shouldn't care about Alfred's personal life, he _didn't _care about it. Alfred was free to do with his life as he pleased.

Arthur groaned, reaching up and pulling on his messy blond hair in distress. "_Fuck_!" he cursed for no reason other than hoping it would make him feel marginally better. It did not. Huffing, he pulled his phone from his pocket and began thumbing through his contacts.

**[Arthur]**

**Frog, you had best keep your promises.**

**[Message sent 8:09 PM]**

**[Frog]**

**Of course mon ami! I'll pick you up in an hour.**

**[Message received 8:10 PM]**

As promised, Francis knocked on the door to his flat at exactly nine pm sharp. Arthur pulled on his coat and left his umbrella on the coat rack. If he brought it with him, he'd probably forget it at the pub. "Ah, good evening, Arthur," Francis greeted with his usual coy smile. "You look as disheveled as usual."

"Oh do shut up," Arthur growled as they made their way to the lift and out of the flats. "I'm not doing this because I enjoy your company."

Francis only sighed, a small white cloud forming from his breath in the cool late January weather. It somehow made the action more dramatic than it needed to be. "Yes, yes, I know the drill."

They walked down the darkened streets together in a gruff silence. Neither had much to say, but their minds were heavily absorbed in their own thoughts. Arthur watched the tops of his feet as they went. He wanted to drink for the sake of drinking, not to rid himself of problems he didn't have. He was out to have a good time after a rather stressful week at work and… and who was he kidding? He was going to get utterly pissed so he could forget everything if just for a night. And right now, he didn't care how utterly stupid the notion was.

As they approached the pub entrance, Arthur paused, pulling Francis to a halt as well. At the Frenchman's curious glance, Arthur dug into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. "Hold onto this for me, will you? Make sure I don't do anything stupid."

Francis took the device and tucked it into the breast pocket of his coat with a small amount of trepidation. "Stupid like… what?"

"Like bloody texting or calling people in a drunken stupor, that's what!" Arthur growled and walked into the pub, taking a seat up at the bar and ordering a scotch before he could even take his overcoat off.

"Interesting," Francis murmured to himself before taking a seat next to Arthur. He asked the bartender for wine or champagne (assuming a dingy place like this had any), and received a scoff from Arthur. "What? It wasn't my intention to drown in ale tonight," he said easily, accepting a glass of red wine – a clean glass too, he noted with a pleased nod. "You may wish to do so, but someone must drag you home tonight."

Arthur only grunted in response, already nursing half a glass of scotch. "Don't fucking care anymore," he mumbled into his drink.

In the amount of time it took Francis to easily sip away his single glass of wine, Arthur had downed several glasses of scotch and was now asking for strange sounding tonics that Francis had been sure the Englishman was making up – until the bartender would nod and shuffle off to grab bottles and mixers. "Haven't you had enough for tonight?" Francis dared ask as the bartender set down a long glass of orange liquid.

"No," Arthur answered slowly. He made a sound that was a mix between a hiccup and a yawn. "I can still… still remember. Bloody hell, Francis! I remember it!"

The Frenchman nodded solemnly, pretending to understand Arthur's woes and patting the other man on the back. Arthur really wasn't one to hold his liquor well, and yet he drank like a whale in a desert. "What exactly, are you trying so hard to forget, _mon ami_?"

Arthur paused, taking a long drink before looking at Francis with glassy green eyes. "Alfred got himself a little bird," he said lowly, as if he were a kid telling a secret on the playground. "And… and… I don't know! I _hate _it, Francis!" He took another drink and hupped. "I don't even… know… I want to find her – and… and I want to punch her or something."

At that bit of information, Francis grinned knowingly. "Ah, Arthur! Jealousy does not suit you," he chided.

"M'not _jealous_," Arthur blustered. He tapped himself repeatedly on the chest as he spoke, as if the action would make everything he said absolutely and undeniably true. "I'm just… _angry _that'd he go and… and do that without – without asking _me _first!"

"You're jealous."

"Not!"

"Yes, you are."

"No! 'Nother scotch!" Arthur swiveled haphazardly in his seat, trying to cut off the conversation by putting his back to Francis as he took a grimacing drink from his new scotch.

Francis frowned at the display, watching as Arthur hunched over the bar counter in an attempt to make himself smaller. "This simply cannot go on," he said to himself, stroking the fine stubble on his chin in thought. There had to be a way… Suddenly he remembered Arthur's phone in the pocket of his coat and removed it, an idea forming as he began thumbing through options and contacts.

"Arthur, say hello to the camera," he said with a lecherous grin. _L'amour_ was worth the potential bodily harm his English friend may inflict later on. Assuming he found out, of course.

* * *

><p>- <span>In the Midwest<span> -

Alfred hummed to himself as he cleaned Nova's tack. It was a long time due, and the sweat, dirt and gunk from the past few weeks had certainly built up. He watched Nova trot around the small indoor corral as she worked out her legs after being cooped up in her stable stall for so long. Sometimes he wanted to put her out in the pastures with the cattle, if he knew she wouldn't nip and terrorize them. He laughed. "I swear, Nova," he called out to the horse from his spot on top the barred fence, saddle in his lap as he brushed away grime. "You and Boss are more like mules than horses."

As if she understood the jab, Nova snorted at the ground and picked up her pace as she traveled around the corral in circles. Alfred smiled and began humming once more, pulling a beaten toothbrush from his back pocket to work on the nooks and crannies of the saddle.

Suddenly his phone began to chime merrily with _Don't Stop Me Now_, and he suppressed a grin at the thought of receiving a text message from Arthur. He tucked the toothbrush in the dip of the saddle horn and struggled to pull his phone from his pocket. Nova snorted at him as she passed and he chuckled.

**[New Picture Message from King Arthur! 3:20 PM]**

Well that's rather new. He thumbed through the options and accepted the message, going back to scrubbing while he waited for the photo message to upload. Damn, sometimes he wished he had 4G connection or something. At least his service was somewhat reliable out here – although most cell phone companies didn't even _cover _his area.

Alfred gave a relieved sigh when the message finally finished loading and eagerly hit the 'view' button. He was rather startled to see a somewhat blurry picture of Arthur (he would recognize that mop of hair _anywhere_) slouched against a bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, and looking downright miserable. "What the…?" For some reason he felt rather upset at this turn of events. Instead of questioning it, he went on to read the rather long message that was attached to the sad photo.

**Alfred, this is Francis Bonnefoy, I am a good friend of Arthur's. We are at this filthy pub tonight because he's attempting to drink himself into a hospital visit. Although I don't know his exact reasons, he has been muttering and crying about how Alfred doesn't trust him and how he wants to harm a young woman by the name of Angie (which is not very gentlemanly of him). Since you are the only Alfred in his contacts I decided to let you know what you have done to my good friend. I do suggest you speak with him as soon as you may. I do not wish to see him like this again.**

**Francis Bonnefoy**

For a long moment, Alfred simply marveled at how this Francis (why had he never heard of him before?) managed to send him a three page text before he realized it was actually an email sent to his phone. But wait; was Arthur _mad _at him for not telling him about Angie sooner? Because he told Arthur before he told anyone else – even Matthew! And yet, even so, he felt some sort of guilt well up inside of him. That lonely picture was his fault?

Nova had finished her laps and now stood at Alfred's side, snuffing at the leg of his pants in boredom. Alfred sighed, transferring his phone to his right hand, awkwardly clasping the device around his cast, and scratched the mare behind her ears. "What do you think I should do, girl? I mean, it's not really _my _fault he's drinking himself stupid, right?" He paused. "Should I shoot him a text?"

As if she understood his question, Nova tossed her head as if to nod and Alfred grinned tiredly at her. "I see how it is, you mule," he teased her gently, stroking her between the eyes, along that little splotch of white that seriously looked like an eagle. "You haven't even met Arthur, but you love him anyway, huh? I wonder what you'd do when you did see him. I bet the first thing you'd do is ask for scratches, and then check his pockets for treats." Alfred grinned to himself as he thumbed through his contacts on his phone awkwardly as he continued to pet Nova with the other hand.

**[Me]**

**Hey Arthur, when ur all sobered up text me. Sounds like we need a good chat. I dnt care if its in the middle of the nite, ok?**

**[Message sent 3:55 PM]**

Alfred finished up his task at hand, clearing the tack of grime and oiling it up before setting it on a dummy for the time being. He pulled Nova's lead rope from the corral's gate post and gave the Thoroughbred a calculating stare. "Alright, Nova, you got two choices. We can do this the hard way or the easy way – and I hope ya pick the easy way today, 'coz I'm too tired for the hard way." He knew if Matthew was here with him, his cousin would probably be asking why he was talking to Nova like she was some kind of criminal. But Alfred knew her tricks and today he really didn't feel like chasing her around.

He entered the corral with Nova and slowly approached her as she snuffled at the ground, clearly amused to Alfred. Just as he was within arm's reach of her, Alfred's phone began to chime, _"I'm traveling at the speed of light. I wanna make a supersonic man out of you!"_

Slightly annoyed, Alfred paused in his advanced, huffing angrily when Nova skittered away, her ears pinning down in annoyance at the song. "Dammit," he cursed, stalking to the edge of the corral and leaning against the barred fence and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

**[King Arthur]**

**lets hava chat lad! come ober to my place. ill make scones!**

**[Message received 4:44 PM]**

"What the fuck…?" Obviously Arthur was drunk, probably even smashed if he thought Alfred could just waltz on over to his place. He checked the time and added seven hours, almost midnight, just as he thought. Drunk and tired. What an interesting combination. Alfred's irritation soon melted into amusement and he wondered what else he could get out of Arthur for future blackmail.

**[Me]**

**I can't just drive across the Atlantic you know! Why are you so drunk?**

**[Message sent 4:47 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**then swim. not drunk either… also i hat u right now.**

**[Message received 5:03 PM]**

**[Me]**

**I'd drown b4 I even got there. And what do you mean you hate me! That's harsh Art. I think I might cry.**

**[Message sent 5:09 PM]**

For a long time Alfred received no reply from his English friend, and he wondered if maybe Arthur had finally passed out or something. He sincerely hoped Arthur had at least made it home before face planting somewhere. But then his phone suddenly went off when he received a series of texts from Arthur. Alfred bit his lip as he opened them one by one.

**[King Arthur]**

**i hate u bekuz fuck. i thougt we were friends! or something. u think i like that u went behind my back an got urself a lil bird? didn't u think of MY feelings n**

**[Message received 5:20 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**ooooooo of course not! ur a bastard and and im pissed and im jealous tht some bleeding BIRD gets u before me and fuck my mobile wont stop fucking GLOWING. wy th**

**[Message received 5:20 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**e hell wont u come ober to my flat! DAMN U!**

**[Message received 5:20 PM]**

Alfred didn't know whether or not he wanted to laugh or cry at the drunken messages. It was rather obvious to him that Arthur wasn't exactly the happiest drunk in the world, but he seemed brutally honest, too. Alfred frowned, rubbing the back of head in shame, even if there wasn't anyone around to see. Shit, he didn't realize Arthur would be so upset with him… He had to fix this. As funny as Arthur's drunken texts were, he didn't want to ever see them again.

**[Me]**

**Arthur, go to sleep. I'll come over when you wake up. Also, text me when you're feeling better.**

**[Message sent 5:23 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**ok lad. swim fast.**

**[Message received 5:25 PM]**

Alfred rolled his eyes at the message before thumbing through his contacts for an entirely new one.

**[Me]**

**Hey Ang, what r you doin 2morrow?**

**[Message sent 5:26 PM]**

**[Angie]**

**Nothing. Why?**

**[Message received 5:30 PM]**

**[Me]**

**Wanna come over to the ranch? We can hang out 4 a while.**

**[Message sent 5:31 PM]**

**[Angie]**

**I'd LOVE to! I'll be over after lunch!**

**[Message received 5:31 PM]**

Alfred frowned at the quick response. Angie was a nice girl and cute to boot. He didn't want to hurt her, but they'd only been a couple for about four days so far – but Arthur had been his best friend for _ten _years. He had to fix this somehow, without hurting anyone. Alfred closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Lord, please let there be a middle ground.

**[Me]**

**Awesome**

**[Message sent 5:33 PM]**

He stuffed his cell back into his pocket, flipping it onto silent beforehand, and gathering the lead rope back into his hands. "Alright Nova," he said grumpily, "I ain't in the mood now for your games."

Nova tossed her head once before starting to canter around the corral, circling Alfred as he stood in the middle or the dirt arena. Alfred threw his hands up in frustration. This was really turning out to be a sour day.

- Chapter One End -

* * *

><p><em>Unimportant Notes: <em>Holy cow, the response I got from just the first chapter… I was almost too scared to post this one in fear that I would ruin it or I don't know, be unable to meet your guys' expectations. I hope the pacing isn't too slow and that it actually seems like it's going places. Because it is… many places… :D

Btw, _Don't Stop Me Now – Queen _is totally Arthur's theme song. You know it to be true.


	3. Chapter Two: Around

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Two: Around_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver –Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angélique/Angie –Seychelles

* * *

><p>Alfred was in church late Sunday morning when he received a new text. After a minute or two, he began to fidget in the pew, fiddling with the old, time worn bible in his hands, the pages open to the hymns that they normally sung when instructed. Not that he needed the reference as he knew most of them by heart, but it was more a habit of years spent touching the same soft pages as he listened to sermon after sermon. Subtly he glanced about himself. He was wedged between Matthew and his teacher Mr. Carriedo. Matthew shot him an irritated glance as Alfred crossed and uncrossed his legs several times, wondering how badly he would be scolded for pulling his phone out as Father Feliciano began a new passage; his accented voice smooth and calming as he spoke of the troubles of today's world.<p>

Shit, what if the text was from Arthur? Alfred frowned and fidgeted some more, alternately grasping and releasing the fabric of his dark blue "Sunday Jeans" as he called them. Soon he began unbuttoning and buttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. Did Arthur remember anything from yesterday? He hoped so.

"Are you feeling well, Alfred?" Mr. Carriedo whispered suddenly into his ear, making Alfred jump slightly. His teacher smiled warmly down at him and Alfred found himself relaxing slightly. Mr. Carriedo was a cheerful and easygoing man, and despite all the hardships he had suffered (such as attempting to teach Alfred the finer points and humor of _Don Quixote _and sustaining a sudden relocation from his home in Spain), the brunet man was kind and amiable by nature. It was something that Alfred admired through his high school years.

Alfred shook his head quickly. "Nah," he whispered back. He tapped his knee a couple of times, chewing on his lower lip in thought. "I just… have to pee. Uh – I'll be right back." Alfred stood from his seat slowly and tried to skulk unnoticed down the pew and into the center aisle, attempting to make himself smaller and more invisible as he made his way out of the sanctuary.

"Is something the matter Alfred?" Father Feliciano called out over his pedestal, interrupting himself in the middle of his passage. A few people looked up from their bibles to stare at him. Alfred grinned sheepishly at his pastor.

Not quite sure what to say, Alfred simply shook his head, pushing a hand against the heavy wooden door leading out of the grand, yet decrepit, room. But when he noticed Feliciano's face fall in worry, he opened his mouth to say something only to be cut off when Mr. Carriedo simply shouted airily, "He's just going to pee!"

At that a few more people looked up to stare and Alfred left the room with a face flushed with embarrassment. Mr. Carriedo was lucky he was so cool, otherwise he'd… Alfred sighed, trotting off to the restrooms near the nursery. There were two stalls marked with graffiti over the years, painted over and over again. Alfred wondered what he'd find under each layer of paint. These walls were like a testament to time. He locked himself in the smaller stall before crawling underneath the separator into the larger one and locking it as well. After about five minutes he was sure Matthew would come to find him, it was inevitable. He just wanted to delay the confrontation.

With a sigh Alfred pulled his phone from his pocket as he climbed onto the toilet, sitting on the tank and planting his feet on the lid of the bowl. Oh good, the message _was _from Arthur. He relaxed a bit in relief. It would have sucked if he'd gone through all this trouble and it had only been a text from Angie or something.

**[King Arthur]**

**What's this business about coming over?**

**[Message received 10:08 AM]**

Alfred tapped his foot against the toilet's lid. How was he supposed to break the news to Arthur without upsetting him? 'Hey dude you were totally smashed last night and you told me that you hated me because I got a girlfriend without your permission', really didn't seem appropriate at the moment. He decided that some tact would be wisest.

**[Me]**

**How're you feeling? Hangover?**

**[Message sent 10:09AM]**

**[King Arthur]**

… **Not anymore. Its 5 here, remember? Why?**

**[Message received 10:09 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Do me a favor and check your message history. :S**

**[Message sent 10:10AM]**

Alfred waited impatiently for Arthur to respond, absently playing a game of snake as he waited. He felt bad for bringing it up, but he knew he'd feel worse if he just let Arthur go on thinking that nothing had been said in the first place. Sometimes it really sucked to have decent morals. After losing the game a couple of times, his phone finally vibrated with a reply, and Alfred sighed in a mixture of relief and anticipation.

**[King Arthur]**

**Fuck. I'm so sorry Alfred. I was drunk. I don't mean what I say when I'm like that. I apologise. Forgive me.**

**[Message received**** 10:13 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Don't be sorry. And idk, but you seemed really honest, so maybe I should b the 1 sayin sorry.**

**[Message sent 10:13 AM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**Sorry for what? You did nothing wrong.**

**[Message received 10:14 AM]**

**[Me]**

**I didn't even ask my BEST FRIEND about 1 of the most important decisions in a guys life. I make a pretty shit friend.**

**[Message sent 10:15 AM]**

Now that he had said it out loud (or texted, rather), the fact seemed more real. He _had _been a pretty shitty friend to Arthur lately – even though they were an ocean away from each other. He should be more involved with him, or maybe even think of him when he went to museums and bought neat things from the gift shop. Alfred frowned, touching the metal dog tags that were tucked beneath his collared shirt. Arthur had been nothing but generous and kind to him, while he went around doing whatever he wanted. No wonder Arthur had been so pissed off at him; he would be too.

The door to the bathroom opened with a slow, eerie creaking noise, and Alfred shut his phone on silent quickly. "Alfred…?" He recognized Matthew's voice right away and held his breath. Maybe if he stayed still enough, Matthew would give up and leave, kind of like that t-rex in Jurassic Park. "Alfred, I know you're in here."

He grimaced, peering down at his phone as it illuminated with new texts.

**[King Arthur]**

**No, if anyone has been a horrid friend, it is I. You should do with your life as you please, and it is not for me to judge. Don't do anything stupid because of **

**[Message received 10:17 AM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**a few drunken texts. **

**[Message received 10:17 AM]**

Matthew knocked on the stall doors, and when they refused to yield open at the small push, an exasperated sigh fell heavily from his lips. "C'mon Al, now I definitely know you're in there." Matthew went silent and the door to the stall he was in rattled slightly. "Father Feliciano's worried you're sick or something."

Alfred felt his shoulders sag slightly. Matthew _knew _that Alfred felt bad whenever Feliciano was worried over him – who wouldn't be? Upsetting Feliciano was like kicking an adorable puppy. No sane person could do that without guilt. "I'm fine," he bit out, despite his serious want to hide away somewhere dark and warm for the rest of the day.

**[Me]**

**I shoulda aked u. I dun kno her rly well ... at all. i just asked her out coz ... idk y. idk if I even want a gf rite now tbh**

**[Message sent 10:18 AM]**

Suddenly Matthew crawled under the stall door, looking both aggravated and disgusted that he had just touched the floor of a public restroom. "Alfred Franklin Jones Jr." Matthew hissed softly, annoyed, much like a mother would to her disobedient child. Immediately Alfred's eyes narrowed into a sharp, unpleased glare.

"I told you to never fucking call me that," Alfred snapped, clutching his phone tightly in anger. His cast dug uncomfortably in the palm of his hand. "What the hell do you want?" he spat when Matthew said nothing as he leaned up against the door of the stall, a finger tracing an etching in the paint that read: _'Joe + Jesus!'_ "What if I'd been taking a shit or something?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I doubt you'd be doing that in the tank instead of the bowl." Matthew's dark blue eyes narrowed and a prominent wrinkle of frustration appeared between his brows as he regarded his younger cousin. "So. You ran out of the sermon because you _really _had to text someone?" He crossed his arms. "That's really mature, Al."

"No one asked you."

**[King Arthur]**

**No mean to pry… Do you even like this girl?**

**[Message received 10:20 AM]**

"Will you stop texting? I'm trying to have a conversation with you!" Matthew said lowly as Alfred began mashing buttons, his eyes on the screen of the phone as he blatantly attempted to ignore his cousin.

**[Me]**

**no idea. Maybe? Suld I? how wuld i no?**

**[Message sent 10:21 AM]**

With growing impatience Matthew slammed his fist against the door of the stall, and Alfred jerked his gaze upwards in both surprise and anger. Was it that difficult to see that he wanted to be _alone _right now (alone with _Arthur _in some sense, as they had a serious conversation through text messages)? "What? You gunna get violent now or something? Just 'coz Pa's not here to see?" he sneered.

Matthew sighed, long and hard, a strong hand ran its way through his wavy, dirty blond hair. "…Why are you being so difficult?" he asked quietly, his anger dissipating with the hopelessness of their situation.

Alfred grimaced. Angry Matthew he could handle, shouting and blowing off steam that pent up over days, weeks and sometimes months; but docile Matthew wasn't something he could deal with. Yelling at Matthew when he was calm felt wrong and unsatisfying – like yelling at a baby while it was sleeping. Alfred groaned in frustration. "I'm not being difficult," he murmured in response, his own voice falling in volume.

**[King Arthur]**

**Have you err… kissed her? Did you perhaps feel anything? Joy, excitement, that sort of thing?**

**[Message received 10:24 AM]**

"I just want some space," he found himself saying to Matthew as he finished reading the text, his mouth falling into a deep frown. "You an' Pa… you guys suffocate me. With all the things I can't say and the stuff I can't do. I just want to run away, Matt. I really do." He looked away from his cousin, glaring at the white wall as if it had personally offended him. He never was any good at these heart to heart talks. "And right now I just have a lot on my mind. You understand that, right?"

Matthew regarded Alfred solemnly. "Yeah, I get it," he said after a long moment. "Do me a favor, though, will you?"

Alfred cocked his head to the side to show that he was listening. "Sure, I guess. Depends on what the favor is."

They shared a mutual smile, something they hadn't done in _far _too long in Alfred's opinion, before Matthew pushed away from the stall door to unlock it. "It's nothing difficult. Tonight after all the chores are done, come and watch some TV with your dad and me. I'll make hamburgers tomorrow if you do."

"Hm, how about you drive me to McDonalds after class and consider it a deal." Matthew rolled his eyes in exasperation, although they both knew Alfred would agree to the family night regardless of the rewards offered. As Matthew began to leave, Alfred frowned, picking at his cast with a blunted nail. "Hey, Matt? Could you let Father Feliciano know I'm alright? Just tell him I'm not feeling too terribly well and that I'll sit out the rest of the sermon. Please?"

Matthew sighed but nodded in agreement nonetheless. "Fine, fine. Have fun texting your girlfriend or whatever."

"It's _Arthur_!" he protested.

His cousin shrugged, pushing open the door to the restrooms. "Right, boyfriend, then. My bad."

Alfred felt his face bloom into an unbecoming blush, too mortified to say anything in response – not that Matthew would have heard him as the door had already slammed shut, as if to finalize that last statement. Alfred huffed to himself glancing down at his phone with a garbled murmur of, "_not my boyfriend_."

**[King Arthur]**

**Alfred? I'm sorry, did I upset you? I honestly didn't mean to pry like that…**

**[Message received 10:29 AM]**

**[Me]**

**o! no sorry bout that! I was locked in the church bathroom with matt. Long story.**

**[Message sent 10:29 AM]**

**[Me]**

**And we havent even kissed… so I wouldnt rly know. Ive decided that im gunna find out 2day tho. Ill let u no how it goes**

**[Message sent 10:29 AM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**I almost want to ask.**

**[Message received 10:30 AM]**

There was a brief moment as Alfred snickered at the response before the next text came.

**[King Arthur]**

**Feel free to text me whenever. I do believe I'll be up late tonight.**

**[Message received 10:31 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Mkay, expect something round 9 or 10.**

**[Message sent 10:31 AM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**Right-o.**

**[Message received 10:33 AM]**

* * *

><p>Alfred stood at the end of his too long driveway, hanging on their empty mailbox with a bored sigh. Angie said she be there any time now, and he was so ready to find out if he liked her, that he had gotten tired of waiting and walked the length of his driveway to meet her sooner. After church had ended (and he had apologized to Father Feliciano, telling him that he'd felt a bit dizzy and needed fresh air – not that the bathroom air was fresh <em>at all<em>), he'd texted Angie and let her know he was home and tried to urge her to come over sooner.

Soon enough a watery blue painted sedan, sprinkled with dust from the back roads that led up to Alfred's house, pulled up next to him, parking in the grass next to the mailbox. The car's engine cut and Angie emerged, glancing at Alfred before her golden brown eyes followed the path of the driveway curiously. "Hello Alfred," she greeted sweetly, stuffing her clacking keys with too many key chains into her purse and soundly swinging the car door shut. "How're you today?"

"Doin' good," he bumbled with a smile, waving her over and beginning to stalk through the grass leading towards the pastures behind the house. "Was waiting for you. I really wanted to hang today."

Angie smiled lightly, walking next to his side, her white purse swishing back and forth as they walked. There was no running into his arms, no sickeningly sweet smiles or pinking cheeks, no discreet knocks of their hands until fingers intertwined. Alfred frowned. Wasn't that what being together called for? "So, what are we doing today?" Angie asked him, scowling as she tugged her thick cotton dress from a half-dead burr bush. Alfred almost laughed, almost because she looked pretty cute struggling with a plant, and because it was rather stupid to wear a dress in the dreary January weather.

"I kinda wanted to show you around the ranch, yanno?" he answered with a little shrug, the thick leather of his jacket groaning slightly with the movement. "It's my pride an' joy, so to speak," he continued when Angie remained silent. "It's not mine – not yet, but it's special to me." And they were a couple, right? So he was supposed to _want _to show her things he loved.

Angie's hands wound tightly around her white purse as she smiled once more, her golden brown eyes squinting against the chilled wind. "That sounds interesting," she hummed cheerfully.

Alfred grinned. "Cool! I know you're not from around here, so maybe you'll see something neat!" She nodded uncertainly and followed him down through the fields as he pointed out the different buildings and pastures, informing on each one's use and what was stored within. "My Pa's out over yonder," he said, pointing into the distance, towards the tree line in the back of the fields, "roundin' up the herd for the night. We bring 'em over to the feed barn in the winter 'coz its shelter and we have some heat bars set up so they can huddle." He shrugged, not that the herd was much right now anyway, just the handful of fertile females and some calves that were too young to sell before the weather really hit.

"Neat…" Angie muttered with a good natured smile. After a moment of silence she wrapped her arms around her own shoulders and sighed slowly. "It's a bit cold out here, don't you think?" she asked when Alfred didn't seem to get the hint.

The blond paused momentarily, his blue eyes scanning the ranch around him for a moment. "The hay barn's right over there. It's pretty warm; we could stop and take a break if you want."

Angie frowned lightly before simply nodding her head, following Alfred into the hay barn in silence. The hay barn was a simple building with two large, open windows towards the rafters allowing sunlight to drizzle inside. Bales of hay were stacked meticulously atop of each other in a haphazard pyramid fashion. Alfred sat heavily on a bale towards the bottom of the stack, leaning against the rest and imagining that this was his throne of hay, grinning childishly at the thought.

"This is they hay barn!" he said pointlessly, looking up to the rafters and watching the dust float lazily in the sunlight. "I used to always play King of the Hill here, when I was kid."

The brunette sat daintily next to him, setting her purse in her lap as she glanced about, plucking a straw of hay from the bale with an air of boredom. "Is this what you feed the cows?" she asked and Alfred laughed loudly, his voice echoing against the wooden walls.

"God no!" he chuckled. "We give 'em a good chow – corn meal and a lil alfalfa and in the spring we add a bit… extra. It's what makes Nebraska beef the best in the whole nation – no, the whole _world_!"

"You seem very sure of that."

Alfred nodded enthusiastically. "Yep. Trust me, I'd know." He paused, glancing over at Angie with a smile. She wore her chocolate brown hair up in pigtails, tied up with neat red ribbons. Her skin was dusted with a slight tan and she picked at her long, painted nails. In this light he supposed she looked beautiful, with the dim light and perfect seclusion about them. Angie looked up from her nails and caught his eye, smiling sweetly as she always did when she was taking his notes or explaining something about French was so much different than Spanish or when she spoke of the ocean and boats and seafood.

Carefully Alfred leaned towards her, hoping that his intent was broadcasted well enough as he attempted to press his mouth against Angie's. He felt more grateful than anything when she recognized what he was trying to do and tilted her head, meeting him halfway.

He was expecting fireworks, or tornadoes, or maybe even bells or something equally cliché and lame when their lips smacked together in a warm and wet jumble. He'd never quiet kissed anyone before, and he fumbled a bit, hesitantly touching Angie's arm. As if he'd managed to encourage her somehow, Angie wrapped her hands behind Alfred's neck, her long fingers tangling into his hair as she leaned back, pulling him on top of her.

Alfred grunted, accepting the movement with little grace as Angie's tongue began to lick at his lips. At that he began to feel odd – not necessarily good, but odd; discomforted. He began to pull away from her mouth and she leaned up after him, easily catching his lower lip between her teeth. He made some garbled sound of protest, hoping that maybe she'd quit if he stayed still, but then her hips lifted from the hay bale and rubbed against him slowly, sultry.

Alfred pushed away with a sudden jerk, nearly tearing his lip off in the process. His face was flushed a bright pink, mostly from mortification and not so much arousal. Angie blinked up at him with doe eyes, adjusting the skirt of her dress so he could no longer see the white cotton underwear she wore. Not that he was looking – holy shit no way.

"I uh –" he choked on his own voice as a frog formed in his throat.

Angie blushed furiously, pulling her purse back into her lap and chewing on her lip. "Too soon?" she asked hesitantly, touching her hand to Alfred's shoulder. He nodded quickly, unable to look her in the eye. "I… I'm sorry… about that…"

He waved a hand around in the air, not quite sure if he had the right words for the situation. Uncomfortable, maybe; rushed, off, wrong, _gross_. He frowned. Those definitely weren't words he associated with a first kiss. "No… it's okay. You just kind of… caught me off guard." Alfred did his best to give Angie a tentative smile. She returned the gesture and he wasn't sure if that smile was sweet anymore – lecherous, sultry, strange.

They stood from the hay after a few silent moments and dusted themselves of stray straw. A piece of straw stuck into one of Angie's pigtails and Alfred hesitated, almost reaching up to brush it away but soon realized that he didn't want to. He didn't _want _to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair or knock against her hand until she twisting her fingers about his own as they walked to the horse stables.

He didn't want to introduce Angie to Nova, watching glumly as Nova sniffed Angie's upturned palm before losing interest and stuffing her nose back into her oat bucket. He didn't want to stand out by his mailbox and wave a solemn goodbye as Angie clambered back into her watery blue sedan and drove away down the dusty back roads that led to his house.

Alfred was pretty sure he didn't want to see her again, really. Not as a girlfriend.

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

**[Alfred]**

**I kissed her.**

**[Message received 9:45 PM]**

Arthur nearly spat out his tea as he read the simple message. Instead he set his phone down on his table and stood hastily to retrieve a napkin before taking a seat once more, more collected this time. Well, he had been expecting something from Alfred for a while now, but honestly, the boy had no tact whatsoever.

**[Arthur]**

**Don't make me ask, Alfred.**

**[Message sent 9:46 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**She kinda… molested me. It was a little gross. Uh, I think im going to end it 2morrow after school. She's too… uh… experienced for me…**

**[Message received 9:48 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**And Nova didn't like her. Nova's gotta approve!**

**[Message received 9:48 PM]**

Arthur sat back in his chair, closing his eyes and listening to the wood creak slightly under his weight. He felt too relieved right now – he shouldn't. Instead of telling Alfred how sorry he was about the loss of his little girlfriend (and he wasn't sure he'd ever heard the excuse of "she was too experienced"), he was silently rejoicing in the way his chest suddenly felt lighter, as if he could breathe again after only taking shallow breathes for far too long.

**[Arthur]**

**So you're telling me that your blooming horse's opinion comes before mine?**

**[Message sent 9:49 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Nah. I knew you didn't like her already. Had to get a second opinion. :P**

**[Message received 9:51 PM]**

The last of his tea tasted sweet on his tongue and he grinned at nothing in particular, although his gaze kept falling on the screen of his mobile as he tried to think of a decent reply, one that didn't involve how much he had disliked this girl even though he had never met her once.

Feeling strangely satisfied and pleased, Arthur picked up his mobile gently, tapping the screen when it drifted asleep and began typing, not really thinking about what he was writing, just focused on saying something that would express the sheer amount of unfathomable _gratitude _that was washing through his veins.

**[Arthur]**

**For your trip here, Alfred… don't worry about finding a hotel. You can shack with me during your stay. I have a spare futon.**

**[Message sent 9:56 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Seriously? ARTHUR UR THE BEST! I FUCKING LOVE YOU RIGHT NOW!**

**[Message received 10:00 PM]**

Arthur set his mobile on the table, stunned.

What had he just done? He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands along his face in exasperation, grimacing in annoyance when he noticed how they shook. He was going to be the death of himself.

**[Arthur]**

**I must be off to bed. I'll wish you good night in 8 hours.**

**[Message sent 10:02 PM]**

* * *

><p>- <span>In the Midwest<span> -

Matthew was waiting for him, the dusty old haul truck rumbling softly in the parking lot. Alfred waved at his cousin, holding up a single finger to tell Matthew to wait just a few minutes longer. He really needed to talk to find someone right now.

Alfred stood off to the side of the school, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he watched his classmates file from the building. He knew each and every one of them – he knew their names, most of their middle names, who their parents were, their grandparents, where they lived, whether it was in his town or the next one over. He knew if they had siblings, what grade they were in and probably even more than that. He knew more about these people than he ever really wanted to, and they him.

Finally he spotted the person he was looking for, waving distractedly to Mr. Carriedo and Mr. Beilschmidt as they passed. "Hey, Angie," he greeted awkwardly, approaching his soon to be ex-girlfriend with a strained smile.

Angie gave a tried smile in return, fiddling with her messenger bag that was strapped securely about her shoulder. "Hello Alfred," she greeted just as awkwardly. They stood together in silence for a moment, watching as a few more students walked by until no one else emerged from the building. Alfred swallowed hard. He had to do this; now. He opened his mouth to speak only to stop when Angie sighed softly. "I'm sorry," she said, picking at the hem of her skirt in favor of looking at Alfred. "I… I think we should call it quits, if you know what I mean."

Alfred stiffened, both confused and maybe even hurt. Sure he'd been planning on breaking up with her, but the thought that _she _wanted to break up with _him_ made him wonder about himself. Was he boring? Had he been too inexperienced? Was he not good enough? "It's nothing against you!" Angie blustered her brows scrunching together when she looked up to see Alfred's expression. "It's just… uh… we're different… and well," her lips twisted into a sheepish smile. "You're a little too _farm boy _for me, I think."

With his worries pressed aside, Alfred laughed, deep and cheerful as he slapped Angie on the back in amusement, pretending not to notice as she stumbled forward slightly from the action. "Oh man, you have _no _idea!" he said, grinning at the brunette with a bright smile. "I'm so relieved – I mean! Uh, I think we're no good for each other, yanno? I just didn't know how to say it without pissing you off or something."

Angie giggled softly, adjusting her bag before looking back up at Alfred. "Ah, well as they say, _c'est la vie_." She paused for a moment, tugging on one of her pigtails. "We're still friends though, right?"

"Yeah, of course!" Alfred grinned. A sharp honk cut into their conversation and Alfred glanced up to see Matthew waving from inside the truck impatiently, the windows slowly beginning to fog in the cold. "Well, I gotta go – I'll see you in class tomorrow!"

And with a little salute and a dorky grin he sprinted to the truck, relishing the blast of warmth from the old vehicle's heater as they began their thirty minute drive to the nearest McDonalds.

Alfred had a feeling that this was going to be a good year.

- Chapter Two End-

* * *

><p><em>Unimportant Notes: <em>So, a bit Alfred Centric, this chapter, yeah? I didn't intend for it to be that way… it kinda just happened… ANYWAY… I hope to focus more on Arthur, Matthew and the impending trip to go boozing in England. If you see any mistakes, please point them out – I'm all anal like that.

Btw, y'all are pretty sharp, catching on to little sentences and the like. I promise it'll be explained… in the next chapter, don't hate me! n.n;


	4. Chapter Three: Above

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Three: Above_

_Important Notes: _John –Scotland, Oliver –Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters - Belgium

* * *

><p>Arthur sat in his bed on a drizzling May night, his laptop placed snugly across his thighs as he routinely checked out a few blog posts and his email, pleased to see a new one from Alfred with attachments. Today, Arthur recalled with a fond and perhaps proud smile, was Alfred's high school graduation. He had already texted the boy several congratulations in response to the excited texts he had been receiving all day. But he supposed Alfred had the right to be so excited. Today was his big day, after all.<p>

**To: Arthur Kirkland (Mystic_Grimoire a yahoo . co . uk);**

**Hey Arthur! GUESS WHAT? I have my HS DIPLOMA! Yesss! :D Do you know what that means? No? It means MY BIRTHDAY IS IN JUST OVER A MONTH AND THEN I GET TO SEE YOU! Oh and I don't have to go to school anymore. Sweet! I sent you pictures! It was a great time Art!**

**Anyway, the Midwest Fair is in two weeks, so we'll see how well Stanley does. God I hope he wins, I wouldn't mind some extra spending cash! :P**

**Well, I gotta go, Matt's lookin for me and we're not done CELEBRATING! Cake and ice cream, Arthur. Hells yes! :D**

**Alfred**

With an amused sigh Arthur opened the attachments, hardly surprised to find an entire photo album waiting for him. He glanced at the time – nine pm – he had time to go through it before bed. He opened the first picture and laughed as Alfred had taken the time to put captions on the photos before sending them out.

Just by looking at the photos, Arthur was able to piece together the ceremony with little difficulty. He was rather astounded by how blatantly _rural _it was. He'd forgotten just how far from civilization Alfred actually was. The ceremony itself had been held outside in the back of the schoolyard, with nothing but fields of grass dotted with trees and the occasional house in the background. The day looked bright and sunny with a clear, endlessly blue sky. There were… Arthur took a moment to count, twenty nine students in red and black caps and gowns, seated in plastic folding chairs with their spectators further behind.

A man who looked horribly albino sat on the schoolhouse roof, a few index cards in his hand and appeared to be speaking to the students and parents; the caption read: _Mr. Beilschmidt (Principal/Math/History teacher) giving the welcoming speech_. He cycled through the different speeches, _Mr. Carriedo (Spanish/English/Literature teacher), Mrs. Peeters (Home Economics/Science/Health teacher), Alfred ME (Top in class speech), and Angélique (Valedictorian speech)_. Strange, he thought, that they used the roof of the school as a podium. Although Alfred seemed to have enjoyed it as in his photos he had been hanging halfway off the ladder, gesticulating widely to the amused audience.

Soon came the family photos; Alfred accepting his paper diploma from the albino man, shaking his hand with an unbelievably wide grin; Alfred making ridiculous poses with his classmates; Alfred blowing raspberries at the camera in that incredibly boyish way of his. Arthur couldn't help but smile. He went through the captions, Alfred's face and mannerisms becoming more and more endearing as he went.

_Alfred (17) and Matthew (18); Alfred Sr. and Alfred Jr.; Alfred and Mr. Carriedo and Mr. Beilschmidt; _Arthur paused in confusion at a simple photo of the sky, with just a single hand pointing upwards to break the dashing, unblemished blue. Underneath the caption simply read: _I hope you're proud, Ma._

Arthur felt his heart constrict sadly at the photo, and yet somehow he felt positively warm and _hopeful _at the sight of – what he realized was Alfred's hand – pointing at the never-ending sky. He saved the photo, typing the caption into the corner and saving it as his desktop. Alfred was, if nothing, inspirational.

For a few minutes Arthur simply stared at the image before he finally shut off his computer with a sigh. He grabbed his mobile as he headed for his closet, quickly returning to routine.

**[Arthur]**

**Congratulations again. Enjoy your cake. I'm off to bed. I'll wish you a good night in 8 hours.**

**[Message sent 9:56 PM]**

* * *

><p><strong>-<strong>In the Midwest -

The day was sweltering hot as Alfred raced out to the mailbox once he spotted the mailman stopping by their driveway off in the distance. He breathed heavily as the thick humidity pressed unpleasantly against his mouth and nose. Goddamn he loved summer, and today was the first official day of July.

Impatiently he yanked open the cover of the mailbox, pulling out a thick stack of envelopes and sifting through them until he came upon a large manila business envelope and cheered, rushing back to the house with a renewed vigor.

Matthew was elbows deep in dishwater when Alfred burst inside, whooping and cheering happily as he tossed the extra mail on the kitchen table. "What's got you so excited?" Matthew asked, leaning away from the sink to see what Alfred was up to as the younger cousin tore into the manila envelope with fervor.

"If this is what I think it is…" Alfred trailed off, fishing inside the envelope until he yanked his hand free with a cheerful _aha_! "My passport came in!" He set the booklet and all the accompanying paperwork on the table to examine them more closely. "Oh shit man, I was so worried that it wouldn't come in on time!"

His cousin sighed, returning to the dishes with a shrug. "I told you to do it sooner," he said simply as Alfred began typing something on his phone. "You're lucky."

Alfred nodded, stuffing his phone back into his pocket, obviously relieved. "Hey, what're you doing?" he asked, sidling up next to Matthew and peering into the dishwater. "I thought I said no chores today, Matt!" he whined, shoving Matthew away from the sink and rolling up his own sleeves. "Stop ruining your goddamn birthday present!"

Matthew smiled thinly. "I see… so for my nineteenth birthday, I'm supposed to sit around and do nothing, eh?" Alfred sent him a petulant glare and he sighed in defeat, grabbing a dish towel to dry his soapy hands. "Fine, fine." He took a leisurely seat in one of the kitchen chairs, tilting it back onto two legs as he stared blankly out the window. "Can we have pancakes for dinner tonight?" he asked mischievously.

"Ugh, pancakes Matt? Really?" Alfred's face twisted into an overdramatic grimace. "Fine – but I'll have to run to the store and get butter and syrup. We're out." Matthew nodded and returned his gaze outside. Alfred watched him over his shoulder before he carefully asked, "Matt… when are you headin' back?"

"To Canada?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "No, I mean that ice pit hockey field you were born in – oh wait, yeah, that's Canada."

Matthew chuckled in good humor. "A couple days after you get back from England, actually. My report is finished, and I've got to get back in the school system. I might be ahead with my credits, but it doesn't mean I can just stay here forever either."

"Yeah, I get it," Alfred mumbled, picking at a stubborn chunk of barbeque sauce that just didn't want to come off. "Do… do you really think you can help people?" he asked slowly, his eyes never leaving the dishes in front of him. "Help people like Pa?"

"Yes," Matthew replied without hesitation. "I don't want to just be some RN that gives little babies shots and lollipops, Alfred. Psyche Nurses really _help _people. It's hard, as I've discovered with your dad, but Alfred, it's incredibly _rewarding_."

Alfred shrugged a bit. "So's herdin' cattle. But you don't seem to think so." He finished the last of the dishes and pulled the plug on the dishwater, grimacing at the dirty bubbles and food chunks that swirled to the bottom of the white sink. "But I guess… is what I'm worried about is Pa. I mean, I ain't no help to him, and if anything, I just make him worse. When you're gone, who's gunna tell him that everything's gunna be alright? Tell him not ta drink himself stupid over nothing? Convince him ta get outta bed in the morning?"

His cousin smiled sadly, standing from the table and stretching. "I don't see why you can't," he answered simply. "He's your _dad_, Alfred. He loves you, and he's proud of you. Just because he's not good at showing it, doesn't mean he _doesn't_."

"I suppose so…" Alfred sighed, obviously lost in thought.

Matthew grinned as he snatched up the keys to the truck. "I'll run to the store – I'm going to get that real expensive maple syrup!"

Alfred laughed his too loud, yet not loud enough, laugh, pushing his glasses back up onto his face with a jovial grin. "Alright, fine." He sent Matthew a glance. "Oh, and Matt?"

"Hm?"

"Happy Birthday."

* * *

><p>The Fourth of July was always an eventful day for Alfred and his Pa. Not only was it Alfred's birthday, but they would celebrate Matthew's as well whenever his Canadian cousin was visiting, and to top it off, well, it was the Fourth of July. Alfred grinned with barely suppressed excitement as he dropped a heavy paper shopping bag to the ground, filled to the brim with a massive assortment of fireworks. Everything from Roman Candles, to Party Poppers, to Black Cats and Grand Shells were stuffed within the bag. Alfred dug around in the bag until he came across a large pack of Black Cats, pulling his lighter and phone from his pocket before wandering off in the yard to sit under the shade of the large acorn tree.<p>

As he ripped the red paper from the fireworks, he felt the familiar buzzing of his phone in his lap and smiled, picking up the device to read the new text contentedly.

**[King Arthur]**

**Happy Birthday to you Alfred. I hope you've started to pack by now. You've only four days until your flight.**

**[Message received 9:23 AM]**

Alfred grinned, rolling his eyes at the obvious mother-hen text and dropping his lighter (decorated with nothing other than the Star Spangled Banner itself) to the ground so he could slide his phone open to reveal the keyboard within.

**[Me]**

**Why thank you, how nice of you to remember my b-day! I at least have all my papers and ID's 2gether. Good enuff 4 now**

**[Message sent 9:24 AM]**

He set about unwinding the wicks of the small fireworks from the main twine, lighting them one at a time and tossing them into the lawn.

_Pop!_

"Hey, Al!" Matthew waved from the doorway of the house, holding up a small cardboard box. "Hey, check it out! I was going through your closet and found your stash of army men!" He shook the box loudly, grinning like a kid. "We should blow them up!"

Alfred grinned right back at him. "You're a genius, Matt!" With a huff, he stood up; dusting off the seat of his pants and toeing his boots into the thick grass as a thought suddenly struck him. "Hey! What're doin' in my closet anyhow?"

Matthew only shrugged, the childish smile never leaving his face. "Come on! I think we should duct tape the sparklers to the guy with binoculars…"

They spent the afternoon creating firework concoctions best used to melt small green plastic men, laughing and even taking a few notes on which brands and fireworks had more blast power, melted the plastic the best, and which were the most amusing to watch.

**[King Arthur]**

**Don't come crying to me when you forget your trousers.**

**[Message received 9:27 AM]**

Alfred looked up from his phone – he hadn't realized Arthur texted him back – just as Matthew was finishing drawing a maple leaf on the side of their mailbox with a few smoke bombs. "Hey dude, will you help me pack up for my trip tomorrow? Arthur's paranoid that I'm going to forget something since I haven't even started packing yet."

Matthew gave a short laugh. "You're only going to be there for a week, so it wouldn't be a tragedy if you forgot your toothbrush or something."

"I know right?" Alfred chortled, examining Matthew's handiwork on the mailbox. "Matt! You should make an American flag on the truck! I'll give you five bucks!" After a few minutes of squabbling and one crudely made flag on the tailgate of the yellow Chevy later, Alfred pulled out his phone happily.

**[Me]**

**Ya ya, matts gunna help me pack. Were attaching Captain America to sum parachutes now; too bad ur not here. :D**

**[Message sent 5:55 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

… **Just don't blow yourselves up. Blasted Americans.**

**[Message received 6:01 PM]**

**[Me]**

**Matt takes offense to that. He says hes not cool enuff to be American.**

**[Message sent 6:10 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**I doubt he said that. You do realise it's well past one in the morning here?**

**[Message received 6:13 PM]**

**[Me]**

**Shit dude sorry! Sleep tight! Don't let the bed bugs bite!**

**[Message sent 6:15 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**I hate that phrase. And goodnight.**

**[Message received 6:16 PM]**

Alfred stuffed his phone into the pocket of his jeans and looked up at the pinking sky, the distant sound of smaller fireworks sounding off in the distance, the smell of black powder and sulfur strong in his nose. He smiled widely. There wasn't a single thing better than this: family, fireworks, cake, burgers on the grill, celebration.

"Hey Pa!" Alfred shouted when he spotted his Pa coming out of the house, his hands heavy with a tray of raw burgers waiting to be tossed onto the grill, a sack of buns, a jar of pickles, ketchup and mustard already set out on the picnic table they used every year. "Can me and Matt set up the finale? _Please_?"

His Pa gave a wry smile, glancing up at the sky as well. "Yeah, sure. I get to light it though," he agreed smugly, laughing when Alfred crossed his arms in defiance before admitting defeat and trotting off down the lawn to meet Matthew.

"I wonder if Arthur's any good with fireworks," Alfred said to himself as he stuffed a shell and three packs of Black Cats into a plastic bottle that he'd cut the top off of.

Matthew shrugged as he finished digging a hole in the dirt road that led to the house as Alfred pulled the wick through a hole pierced in the bottle and they buried the firework concoction, leaving nothing but the wick to stick out of the mound of dirt. "Who knows? Why don't you ask him, eh? Although I don't really think he's the type to do anything with them that's not written on the label."

Alfred guffawed as he set to work placing the different fountains and Whistling Pete's. "Yeah! You're probably right. I think he'd be freaking out that we just buried a shell in the road. Matt that's going to leave an _amazing _crater!"

They both stepped back to admire their handiwork, grinning at each other like children in a candy store with wads of dollar bills in their pockets. Alfred turned to Matthew with a mischievous look. "Hey, while we wait for it to get real dark, wanna play hockey with the Roman Candles?"

"You're on. Where'd you leave your paintball mask?"

For the next fifteen minutes they spent their time having fun. Alfred had set up a makeshift hockey goal, while Matthew played goalie, blocking shots from the Roman Candles that Alfred aimed at him, all the while Alfred explaining to his Pa that they were being safe (that's why Matthew had the paintball mask, of course) and that no, the Roman Candle stick wouldn't explode so yes, it was okay if he held it and pointed it at his cousin.

After their traditional Fourth of July barbeque dinner (_"Seriously, Matt, did you just put _syrup _on your burger? Gross!"_), the three men sat on the house's wrap-around porch, the wicks that belonged to the finale in Alfred Sr.'s hands. "Y'all ready for this?" he asked easily, snatching up Alfred's flag lighter as they watched the sky for everyone else's firework shows. Occasionally blossoms of light would explode in the distance, unobstructed by trees or rooftops – bright against the darkening, starlit sky.

Alfred loved moments like this. "Do it, Pa. It's going to be amazing!"

And amazing it was.

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

**[Alfred]**

**I hate cleanup duty after the 4****th****.**

**[Message received 3:00 PM]**

Arthur leaned back in his office chair, inconspicuously reading the text from inside his pocket. He was on the last leg of his workday, and wasn't in the mood to get fired for something as trivial as texting while on the clock. Although normally he would just ignore the texts until he was finished with his shifts, it was that lately he found that he simply _couldn't_. Alfred was coming to England in three days. He would be _here _with _him_ and what if he changed his mind? Or what if something happened and he couldn't make it?

**[Arthur]**

**Can't be that bad**

**[Message sent 3:03 PM]**

"Oh, what is this? Is Arthur chatting to his darling little _américain_ on the job?" Arthur startled in his seat, swiftly pulling his hand from his pocket as he glared up at a leering Francis. "You seem flushed; did I perhaps, startle you?"

Arthur huffed and turned back to his desk to pick up a new manila folder and pretend to examine its contents. God he hated his job. "No, I haven't the slightest idea what you mean." He gave Francis a withering stare. "Be gone."

Francis smiled widely, absently flipping his golden hair over his shoulder as he leaned against the entrance of Arthur's cubicle. "Ah, I see. I was mistaken, no? Perhaps you are all in excitement for this vacation of yours. To think, I must suffer a whole week without seeing your impressive eyebrows. Whatever shall become of me?"

"Shut up, frog," Arthur hissed, his heavy brows knitting together in irritation. "Why don't you get to work like the wonderful sheep you are?"

"Eh," Francis chuckled lightly, his fingers tracing along the corkboard wall of the cubicle. "I cannot say farewell to my good friend before his vacation?"

The Englishman frowned. "We're not friends."

"Of course we aren't."

Arthur sighed, spinning around in his chair so his back was to Francis. His hand dusted over his pocket as he felt his mobile vibrate against his leg. "Well, now that that's settled, please excuse yourself from my workspace. I have matters that I must attend to before I take my leave." He bent his head over his stack of manila folders, glancing over charts and spreadsheets without actually seeing them. Arthur sighed in relief when he heard Francis' footsteps echo away down the hall. His hand immediately went to his pocket.

**[Alfred]**

**Have to haul dirt from the pasture to fill in a hole in the road. It was matts idea, I swear.**

**[Message received 306 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Your troublesome nature knows no bounds, does it? Have you begun packing?**

**[Message sent 3:15 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**I aint trouble! Its just hard to haul dirt w/out the truck. Pa took it to the muni airport. Were using nova n a sled. :P phones really irk her yanno**

**[Message received 3:21 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Muni Airport? And you didn't answer my question, boy.**

**[Message sent 3:29 Pm]**

**[Alfred]**

**Hey I aint a boy either! Im 18! And no, matts gunna help me once we clean up. Don't worry i wont forget pants. Nova says hi.**

**[Message received 3:40 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**And a muni airport is municipal airport. Pas takin the crop duster over the fields 4 us n the Thompson's. I wanted 2 do it but no im on cleanup! :(**

**[Message received 3:47 PM]**

"I suppose it's time I left," he mumbled to himself as he pocketed his phone and gathered up his folders to put on Francis' desk. Bloody frog could finish it for him. Arthur took his time giving a few of his coworkers stiff farewells as he retreated from the stuffy building.

He walked down the busy London street, squinting up, disgruntled, at the sunlight streaming down on him. "Hell, I need to set up the futon…"

* * *

><p>- <span>In the Midwest<span> -

**[New Picture Message from King Arthur! 1:15 PM]**

Alfred paused his game, picking up his cell phone and taking another bite of his grilled cheese sandwich as he accepted the download for the picture. "Mmm, hey Matt, did I pack a toothbrush? I can't remember!"

Matthew poked his head around the corner, giving Alfred an irritated glare from behind his rounded glasses. "I don't know why don't you get off your duff and check yourself!" Alfred stuck his tongue out at his cousin before he disappeared back around the corner.

"Eh, I'll just buy one when I'm there if I forgot."

A few dishes began clicking together and Alfred distinctly heard Matthew say something about, "Lazy moron."

Alfred snorted returning his attention to his phone only to choke out in laughter. On the screen of his phone sat a photo of Arthur sprawled out on a pullout futon obviously asleep with his mouth half open in what was presumably a snore. Underneath it simply said:

**This is to be your bed tomorrow. Is he not adorable when he sleeps?**

**[Me]**

**Who is this?**

**[Message sent 1:19 PM]**

Alfred gave the phone a curious glance, as if the device would jump to live and spout the answer to him. Eventually he shrugged and set the phone down, returning to his game until he received an answering text.

**[King Arthur]**

**It is none other than Francis Bonnefoy my young american friend. I am here with Arthur helping him clean for your visit. I am too good a friend.**

**[Message received 1:27 PM]**

**[Me]**

**Francis? U rly like to send pic messages or something? is he still sleepin? Y r u guys cleaning? That's kinda lame.**

**[Message sent 1:33 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**You ask too many questions! Why would we not clean? Do you want to see his filthy flat? You are a strange one!**

**[Message received 1:45]**

**[Me]**

**Idk. Arthur doesn't let neone have his phone. Well I guess not when hes awake. I'm not lookin 4ward to a 9 hour flight tho**

**[Message sent 1:51 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**Of course you are not. Bring something to do. Many things, actually. Nine hours is a long time. Arthur and I shall meet you at the airport.**

**[Message received 1:59 PM]**

**[Me]**

**? ? ? ?**

**[Message sent 2:07 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**Alfred stop texting that frog! He will not be joining me at the airport AT ALL! Focus on packing and don't forget your toothbrush****!**

**[Message received 2:15 PM]**

**[Me]**

**Argh… I won't. WTF stop reading my mind and don't worry!**

**[Message sent 2:16 PM]**

Alfred sighed and saved his game, shutting down the console with his sock covered toe. "Hey Matt! What's for dinner?" he shouted down the hall as he stood up to check the bathroom sink for his toothbrush.

* * *

><p>The moon was round and bright over the darkened cornfields. Alfred pressed his face against the cool window, his eyes drooping in sleep as he watched the fields fly past. "Deer," he murmured, his voice addled with sleep, pointing at the window and towards the side of the road.<p>

"I see them," his Pa grunted, easing onto the brakes as the cottontails bolted across the one way road after a few flicks of the truck's high beams. Matthew mumbled something unintelligible from the backseat.

Alfred nodded tiredly, looking at the green digital numbers on the dash. They'd been on the road for four hours now, just to get to the airport that actually had flights that could connect to international airports. Sometimes he really wished he lived in the city – or at least closer to the city. Glumly he continued to stare out the window, glaring at his own reflection in the glass, until the cornfields slowly melted away into suburban areas with cozy little neighborhoods drenched in the off-yellow color of dim streetlights.

The airport was hushed with tired business men and cheery faced employees who relished in the dull murmur around them. Matthew rested his chin on Alfred's shoulder as they stood in the line to check out Alfred's luggage. "Wow, Al, you're really going to be leaving, eh?"

"Yeah…" Alfred sent his cousin a brilliant grin despite the obvious lethargy that weighed him down. "I'll be back before you know it!"

The woman behind the counter smiled brightly at the cousins, pulling Alfred's bulky suitcase onto the scale and printing off his tickets. "Have a nice flight!" she chirped. Alfred thought she was too peppy at five o'clock in the morning.

They wandered up to the second level of the airport, looking around silently as they stopped at a café near Alfred's security check line. "I still have thirty minutes until my flight leaves," Alfred said in a small voice, gesturing to the service counter. "You guys should have a coffee or something for the drive back. Pa, I don't want you fallin' asleep at the wheel!"

"I s'pose…" his Pa grunted in response. Soon they were all seated around a wiry circular table each nursing their own paper cups of coffee. "Make sure you call me when you get there."

Alfred smiled. "Yeah, I will Pa, don't worry."

"And remember ta find the nearest hostel, just in case."

"I'm pretty sure Arthur's not some crazy murderer rapist, Pa," Alfred answered with a roll of his bright blue eyes. "But yeah, there're a few hostels in London, so don't worry."

His Pa nodded heavily, taking a long drink of his black coffee. "Alright…"

Matthew chuckled amiably. "He'll be fine, Uncle Al," he urged, knocking elbows with Alfred discreetly. "You raised him right, so there's nothing you have to worry about."

"Yeah!" Alfred grinned widely, the smile dimming when he glanced at the clock on the departure board nearby. "I should probably get through security now…"

At that the three men mellowed, standing and shuffling towards the security lines. Alfred sighed, pulling Matthew into a brotherly, one-armed hug, giving him a noogie before his older cousin could pull away in protest. "I'll miss ya Matt! At least I'll be back in time to see ya off, but it's all the same. Don't forget to visit over winter break, okay?"

"Don't do that," Matthew grumbled, smoothing down his flyaway hairs with a hand. He grimaced but still retained a gentle and amused air about him. "And yeah, I will. Anything to escape cabin fever, eh?"

Alfred's smile deepened further and he pulled Matthew into another hug. They parted with mutual pats on the shoulders. Alfred stepped up to his Pa feeling somewhat awkward. After staring at each other for a few long moments, his Pa reached forward and gathered Alfred up in his arms, patting the full-to-bursting bag on Alfred's back. "Please be careful out there," he whispered against the side of Alfred's head.

"I promise Pa, don't you worry about me." Alfred smiled until he thought his face would split in half and he hugged his Pa tighter before letting go and stepping back in one smooth motion. "Now, I hope to see the ranch in tip top shape when I get back. Nothin's gunna be burned to the ground and Nova's gunna get her treats and extra carrots, and everything'll be running smooth; am I right?"

Both his Pa and Matthew laughed, shifting their weight from one foot to the other, ready and eager to be finished with their overly long goodbye. After a few reassurances and a few more farewells, Alfred made his way into the security line, watching his Pa and Matthew leave until he couldn't see them any longer.

In about ten hours he would be in London. He would get to meet his best friend for the first time ever. He would set foot outside of North America – outside of the United States (for only the second time – the trip to Canada to visit Matt stole the first spot). And holy shit was he _nervous_.

Alfred took a deep, soothing breath of good ole American air before bravely taking another step in the line.

But it would be completely worth it.

- End Chapter Three -

* * *

><p><em>Unimportant Notes<em>: Matthew's birthday is totally July 1st (Woo Canada Day!). Next chapter is when they finally meet! I'm so excited about it, you guys have no idea. Boozing in England, bromance, Francis, drunk!Alfred… I mean what? :D

You guys are so awesome to me, that I brought my laptop w/ me on my mini vacation – in the hotel right now – just to update this. Also! Beta'd by the awesomesauce **Lucia-luce**! If you see any mistakes let me know! And thank you for all the concrit I've been receiving! That really makes my day, and helps me to improve! :D


	5. Chapter Four: Here

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Four: Here_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium

* * *

><p>Arthur paced erratically in the lobby near Alfred's arrival gate. A few people sent him odd looks as he muttered lowly to himself, continuously pausing in his steps to smooth down his golden mop of blond hair, or to smooth his eyebrows, or to wipe away invisible sleep from his eyes. It was well after ten p.m. and if he hadn't been so anxious and nervous, then he'd be complaining about how he was losing precious sleep tonight.<p>

"Arthur, for heaven's sake, please do stop pacing so," Francis said from his seat in one of the stiff, blandly decorated airport chairs. The Frenchman stared at Arthur impassively with blue eyes, his chin rested against his palm in boredom. It had been Arthur's idea to arrive early, _'just in case_'. Francis snorted. "You are driving the others crazy with nerves." He tapped the empty chair next to him. "What has you so worried, _mon ami_? This is unlike you."

There was a long silence as Arthur sat, wrapping his fingers around his mobile and wringing them in thought. "I've no idea," he responded at long last, glancing up from his hands to peer over at Francis. "Maybe I'm fretting over nothing."

Francis barked out a laugh, a hand flying to clutch his stomach in amusement. "I do not see why! The _américain _knows of your… personality and yet he still comes! Do you think he may see your sizeable facial features and run back to his airplane in fright?" Francis continued to laugh uncontrollably at his own joke, even as Arthur attempted to rip the small hairs of his beard from his chin in fury. It wasn't until a simple, yet loud, double beeping alerted Arthur back to his mobile that sat in his lap. Francis gave the bland ringtone an unimpressed look.

With nervous hands Arthur picked up the device and tapped at the screen to reveal his message.

**[Alfred]**

**Hey the plane just landed. Gotta grab my carryon and go thru customs n ill be right out.**

**[Message received 10:34 PM]**

Arthur bit his lip. "He's on his way out," he mumbled before burying his face in his hands, exhaling long and hard into his sweaty – God, were they sweaty already? – palms. "Oh bloody hell; he's on his way out here!"

"Calm yourself," Francis said easily, patting Arthur on the back and getting him to stand from his seat. "Act natural – ah, actually, just smile, I suppose that must suffice."

"Right, yes, I can do this." Arthur straightened his posture, smoothing down his forest green sweater vest with a hand as crowds of people, families returning home and tourists alike, came up through the gates in droves. "I must make a good first impression."

Francis nodded along with Arthur's incessant rambling, needlessly piping in, "Perhaps not a _first _impression, no? The boy knows you far too well for that."

Arthur groaned hopelessly, turning around to face Francis and scorn him properly. "You're not helping matters!"

"I never said I would."

"I swear, if you do not desist in this, I will personally rip out your beard in the most painful way possible before I drown you in a vat of your beloved wine and then cook yo–"

He was interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared, somewhat nervously, and then, "Uh… A-Arthur?"

The Englishman spun around stiffly. His stomach tumbled into a nervous, tangled knot that lay painfully in the cradle of his gullet. "A-Al…fred?" he managed to choke out, flustered and somewhat surprised that he was looking ever so slightly _up _into those perfectly clear sky blue eyes that seemed oh so much more blue than in the hundreds of photographs his computer portrayed. Arthur cleared his throat. "Ah! Hullo Alfred!"

Alfred grinned wide and hard, and it was obvious he was tired. His blue, blue eyes were weighed down with prominent dark circles and the lines of his masculine face seemed deep and stressed. Arthur almost felt horrible that the boy had to suffer such a long flight – except for the fact that Alfred was _here_ with _him _and bloody hell he was so _happy_.

"Your voice is a lot deeper than I thought it would be," Alfred said suddenly, shrugging his shoulders to adjust the distribution of weight of his overstuffed rucksack.

Right. Arthur had forgotten that the last time they'd ever spoken on the phone was when he was thirteen and Alfred was ten. And is all they had done was say 'hello' before Alfred had fallen into an unmanageable fit of giggles until they hung up. "And yours a tick higher, lad," he deadpanned before he could catch himself.

Alfred seemed to pause and consider the offhand comment and Arthur swallowed hard. Maybe he should begin apologizing now? He had to find a way to salvage the situation – he needed to watch what he said from now on if he didn't want to spend the next week with an angry, brooding American in his flat. But before he could say anything further, Alfred's head tipped back and the American let loose a long peal of laughter, garnering more than one stray look.

"You're definitely my Arthur," Alfred said easily once his laughter had died down into manageable chuckles.

Arthur huffed slightly. "Was there ever any doubt?" he asked incredulously, to which Alfred simply shrugged and stifled a yawn behind his hand.

Suddenly Francis stood from his chair, sliding up next to Arthur with a peevish smile. Arthur startled. He had completely forgotten about the Frenchman's presence; and to be honest, he'd rather continue on so. "Ah, you two are like a match made in heaven, no?" he asked, to the vexation of Arthur, who simply muttered something darkly under his breath and ignored the question altogether.

"Are you Francis? Just asking 'coz you sound French… kind of, I guess…" Alfred asked instead as he rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, the comment flying completely over his head. "Ugh… sorry I feel… like it's three in the afternoon like back home… but I'm so tired, but not…"

Arthur clucked his tongue in sympathy, reaching out and grabbing Alfred by the crook of his elbow and pulling him down the wide, bustling halls. "It's jetlag, Alfred," he said as he brought them to the luggage claims, locating the correct carrousel and bringing Alfred to it and they waited. His hand never left Alfred's elbow. "How many bags did you bring with you?"

"Just one," Alfred answered, swaying lightly on his feet. If he was attempting to keep himself awake or put himself asleep, Arthur couldn't tell. They stood in the crowd of people from Alfred's plane for a few long minutes. Francis had darted off, saying something about lovebirds and that blasted _l'amour _he was so fond of. Arthur scoffed, but was glad to be rid of the Frenchman nonetheless; before something deeply mortifying happened.

Alfred had lurched forward for his bag when it finally traveled around the conveyor belt and soon they were off, much to their relief. Even this late at night the airport was crowded and stuffy.

"It smells weird here," Alfred commented as they stood in line at the bus stop, sniffing loudly as if to prove his point. "I can't describe it… it's just weird."

Arthur glanced at his watch, the last bus should arrive in about five or so minutes. "Probably because it doesn't smell like cow shit."

Alfred laughed his wonderfully loud laugh and Arthur shifted in his spot, unsure if he liked the way people would turn to stare at them – as if Alfred's obnoxious laughter was truly something so foreign. "You're probably right," the American said simply, adjusting the straps of his rucksack. "It's pretty much baking this time of year. Yummy thought, huh?"

"Absolutely delectable," Arthur muttered with a grimace. He didn't even want to _think _about how that smelled. Alfred chuckled and then yawned as the bus pulled up to the curb. "Up you go, why don't you take the window to see what you can for the moment?"

The bus ride was quiet and Alfred slumped against the window, snoring softly. His breath fogged up the window with each exhalation, and Arthur smiled at the childish look on his friend's sleeping face. Alfred startled awake when the bus hit a particularly rough spot on the road and he hit his head sharply on the window. "Ah… ow… that kinda hurt," he mumbled sleepily as he rubbed the side of his head, glaring half-heartedly at a snickering Arthur.

Arthur forced down his grin and gripped the bar on Alfred's rolling suitcase as the bus pulled to a slow halt. "This is our stop," he said, standing and stretching lethargically as he did so.

Alfred followed suit and they made their way towards the front of the bus, until Alfred stopped suddenly; gawking. "Dude, Arthur! This bus has _stairs_!"

"Of course it does, how else do you expect to get to the second level? They don't install lifts on these, you know."

Instead of being pacified by the dry observation, Alfred's eyes widened in shock. "Holy shit! It has a second level? Is that even possible? Is it even aerodynamic? It has to get crappy gas mileage, right? Why didn't you tell me you had two story buses before?"

Arthur gave the irritated bus driver a wry smile as he nearly dragged Alfred from the bus. "Because," Arthur said, beginning to walk down the street with Alfred in tow, "I figured it was common knowledge! Haven't you ever seen a double-decker bus before?"

"Well, no. I ain't never seen a bus that wasn't a school bus before. And if I have, I guess I didn't realize what it was. Now that I think about it… I think I saw a purple bus in Canada…"

The Englishman grimaced, glancing down the darkened streets to double check what intersection he was at. "Your grammar is atrocious," he stated.

Alfred simply shrugged. "I can't help the way I talk – I just do. I really try when I write though, 'coz I can stop and think about it, you know?"

"And you cannot stop and think now?"

"Too tired to think," was his only response and Arthur supposed it was fair – for the moment. He led them down a few blocks more before stopping in front of a tall brick building, opening the door with a bit of trouble before ushering Alfred inside and towards the lift.

Arthur's flat was decorated plainly with white walls and sparse furniture. Almost immediately Alfred saw the pull-out futon and fell onto it, overstuffed bag and all. "Mrrrgh, thank you bed, uuughh…" he garbled out into the starchy sheets, nuzzling his face into the fabric. "Sleep now…"

"Before you do that," Arthur started, sitting primly on the edge of the bed and folding his hands in his lap, "isn't there something you should be doing?"

Alfred gave his English friend a quizzical stare. "Oh!" He sat up quickly and rubbed at his face tiredly, "Thank you for letting me stay here, Arthur!" he said before sending Arthur a bright grin. "Sleep now?"

Arthur chuckled lightly and shook his head. "Not a problem and you know it. I meant calling your father and informing him that you are neither raped nor murdered."

"Pft!" Alfred smothered a laugh in his hand, falling back onto the futon and digging around in his pocket. "Sorry, the way you said that was funny. I dunno why."

As Alfred rifled through his contacts to find his home phone number, Arthur punched him lightly on the knee, telling him that there was nothing funny about what he had said before standing to make a quick cup of tea. There was no way he'd be able to sleep tonight anyway – not with Alfred there; on his futon – within arm's length… Arthur grumbled under his breath.

"Hey Pa! I'm callin ta let you know that I'm _neither raped nor murdered_!" Arthur grunted from his place in the kitchen, missing the brilliant grin that Alfred sent his way as he readied his kettle and cups. "Yeah, I'm gettin' ready to crash now… … Mmm, yeah? … Nah, I'm fine. It's jetlag – I guess…"

Arthur tuned out the conversation for a minute or two as he set the kettle to boil and sighed. Today had to had been the longest day of his life – waiting for Alfred. He'd thought that perhaps he'd just go about his day as normal; maybe rent a movie if he became desperate for something to do. But three movies later and a couple episodes of _Monty Python's Flying Circus_ later, he had been ready to claw his eyes out in anticipation. That's when he had called Francis over. Nothing screamed more desperate than that.

And yet here they were getting ready for bed after a long, nerve wracking day, as if they'd been doing this kind of thing for years. It was oddly disturbing. The ease in which Alfred spread himself out on the futon was somewhat reassuring that he was at least a little relaxed in Arthur's presence.

"Hey Arthur! Pa wants to talk ta ya!" Alfred said suddenly, holding the phone out and up over the back of the sofa that the futon pulled from. "I think he wants to make sure you're real," the American stage whispered.

Arthur rolled his eyes pulling the kettle from the stove as it began to whistle with heat. "Just a moment, if you would," he muttered as he quickly fixed himself a cup and blew on the tan liquid lightly. Begrudgingly he took the phone from Alfred's outstretched hand and pressed it up to his ear. "Hello?"

"'_Ello, is this Arthur?"_ The voice was crippled by static and it sounded awfully far away, but Arthur picked up on the words – the hint of worry, and the fact that Alfred's father sounded a lot like Alfred.

Arthur nodded, taking a sip of his tea before saying, "Indeed it is. I must say your son is fine, nothing to fret over – not that I'm implying you're fretting; of course not." He paused to clear his throat. "What I meant was that no harm will come to Alfred – gentleman's honor and all."

There was a long, fizzling pause on the other end of the line before Arthur could hear a soft chuckling noise. _"Ah, right! Ta be honest, I was just makin' sure ya were real. Well, not real – I know yer real from the letters and whatnot over the years, but you never know!"_

"I… err… well, yes. I suppose. Should I hand you back to Al…?" Arthur glanced down at Alfred who was; again, sound asleep on the futon his mouth open wide in a snore. "Never you mind that, Alfred is asleep."

"_Don't worry 'bout it. I'm just… glad he's safe."_

Arthur smiled softly. "Of course." They said their respective goodbyes and Arthur hung up, setting the phone on the nearby end table. Carefully he stooped over Alfred and worked the rucksack from his shoulders, somewhat surprised by how heavy it was. Alfred must have stuffed his entire bedroom in it.

After tidying up the room and tucking Alfred under the blankets (he hadn't bothered to remove the American's boots – not that he was sure he could figure out how without waking him), he gently ran his hand through Alfred's notably soft hair. "Goodnight, Alfred," he muttered before straightening and flicking off the lights.

This was going to be an awkward week indeed.

* * *

><p>- <span>Alfred<span> -

**[Matticus]**

**So I hear you're not dead yet. I think I'm surprised.**

**[Message received 3:05 AM]**

Alfred frowned down at the message with bleary eyes. He was too tired for this, but he couldn't sleep anyway. The soft sound of his phone vibrating against wood had woken him from his slumber and he had flailed about the room until he managed to locate the device. Arthur's apartment was really dark at night. He was used to the gentle moonlight streaming through sheer curtains and the dull glow of the T.V., or the light of the refrigerator opening and closing when Matthew couldn't sleep at night.

The heavy blinds over the small windows made the room fall into an unnatural darkness that felt incredibly foreign to him.

**[Me]**

**Ha ha ha. Ur so damn funny i might just die from laffin so hard**

**[Message sent 3:13 AM]**

Grimacing, he pulled his boots from his feet with a practiced ease and set them next to the futon, wrapping himself back up in the blankets and sighed in mock contentment. It was hard to sleep somewhere so vastly different than his own home. He'd probably slept more comfortably in the forest or in the hay barn.

**[Matticus]**

**That wouldn't surprise me. What time is there anyway?**

**[Message received 3:15 AM]**

**[Me]**

**3 in the morning! IM TIRED GO AWAY. Add seven hours Matt.**

**[Message sent 3:16 AM]**

**[Matticus]**

**You could just ignore me, you know. + 7 hours? Okay. So what's Arthur like?**

**[Message received 3:19 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Matt when i get bk im going 2 kill u. btw hes really cool. :) u shuld hear his accent. it makes me want to laugh and hug him at the sme time**

**[Message sent 3:21 AM]**

**[Matticus]**

**I'd like to see you try. And do it. I dare you. No! Triple-dog dare you!**

**[Message received 3:23 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Dare me 2 what?**

**[Message sent 3:24 AM]**

**[Matticus]**

**Hug Arthur. Do it. Chicken.**

**[Message received 3:26 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Consider urself dead whn i get bak**

**[Message sent 3:28 AM]**

**[Matticus]**

**I want photographic evidence.**

**[Message received 3:30 AM]**

* * *

><p>Alfred groaned when light suddenly flooded the room around him, splashing merrily onto his face. He'd just spent the past fifteen minutes trying to ignore the soft sound of socked footsteps and the gentle clicking of dishware in the rooms around him, but now going back to sleep would be impossible.<p>

He sat up with a moan, running a hand through his messy hair, making it worse before smoothing it down. "'Stoo early," he grumbled, throwing off his blankets and searching for his glasses.

"It's well past ten now. I couldn't let you sleep the day away, now could I?"

Alfred set his glasses onto his nose before peering over the back of the sofa and into the kitchen where Arthur sat, nursing a steaming cup of tea. "Sure ya could," he said, stretching himself over the couch with a yawn. "But I kinda wanna eat."

"Kind of, want to; it's not difficult to separate your words, Alfred."

And that was how their first morning together started. Arthur taught Alfred the art of making scones ("Don't fold it over too much! The dough will toughen!"), while Alfred's vocabulary regressed more and more as time went on ("Duncha undastan' what'm sayin'? Gewd.").

"Well! I suppose we've dallied inside long enough! You must be dying with excitement to see London," Arthur said from his spot on the futon, his legs folded neatly with Alfred lying casually on the rumpled sheets next to him.

Alfred shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose so." He yawned, rubbing his eyes with tired hands. "I mean – of course I am; but, I wanted to see _you_ more than London, so I really haven't thought of anything I wanted to do."

Arthur flushed at the declaration and then coughed awkwardly when Alfred began laughing loudly, apologizing for saying such strange things and that he really had a problem with figuring out what to say before actually _saying _it. "It's ah… no problem. Since you're still a tad jetlagged… I… we could simply watch a film or two – I uh… if that's what you wish."

"Arthur," Alfred said suddenly, his mirthful countenance gone and replaced with an air of seriousness. "Don't be so formal. We've known each other forever. If there's anything _you _want to do then let's go do it!"

The Englishman smiled wryly. "I suppose you're right. I wouldn't mind going to the cinema…" He peered out the window, scrutinizing the thick over layer of graying clouds. "And did you bring an umbrella? It looks like rain." When Alfred simply shook his head, Arthur sighed. "Well! Then I guess our first order of business will be to the store to get you an umbrella, and then to the cinema for a movie."

"That sounds like a plan to me!" And with that he sat up, slipping on his boots and pulling his jeans over them before standing, his hands on his hips as he waited for Arthur to finish fussing over his own wardrobe for the day. It probably shouldn't have felt so normal to wait by the door, tapping his boot restlessly against the linoleum floor for Arthur to find a decent pair of shoes to wear and an umbrella.

* * *

><p>Alfred pressed closer to Arthur, their shoulders brushing together heavily as they walked down the streets. "Holy shit, there are so many people here…" Alfred breathed lowly, nearly flinching away from the many Londoners that walked their normal routes down the streets. "I feel kinda like I'm going to drown out here!"<p>

"I'm not quite sure what you were expecting, but London is a city – and normally a city entails that there be people." Arthur gripped the handle of his closed umbrella tightly, trying to ignore the fact that while Alfred was complaining about being smothered, the American was _smothering _him. "Just relax."

Alfred huffed quietly yet still remained close, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. It was the middle of July and yet it was chilly on a rainy day – Alfred frowned. It was supposed to be sweltering every day, even when it rained. That's what July was all about. "Yeah… I dunno… Arthur they're not even _smiling_. This is so depressing…"

His English friend only stiffened, a scowl forming on his pale pink lips. "Well, I apologize that my home is not pleasing enough for you," he snapped bitterly.

"No!" Alfred nearly shouted garnering a few blasé looks before they simply went about their own business once more. Arthur arched a thick brow at him, silently demanding an explanation and Alfred jumped at the chance. "It's just… shucks, I'm sorry. I'm pretty sure there are more people on this street than there is in the whole panhandle of Nebraska, Arthur. I'm just not used to it, is all."

Arthur sighed in defeat, tapping his elbow against Alfred's in what he hoped would be taken as reassurance. "No need to worry dear boy, they won't jump out and bite you…" he trailed off purposefully, watching with amusement at the way Alfred's too blue eyes fell on him expectantly. "…Then again, one can never know these things! But perhaps it is best if we hurry along now."

"You're mean," Alfred whined as he struggled to keep up with Arthur's pace. "No, not just mean, you're downright _evil_."

"I do try."

"I honestly don't think you're even tryin'."

They stopped in a little shop where Arthur, much to the protest of Alfred, bought his American friend an umbrella with the Union Jack detailed boldly on the water resistant fabric. Feeling glum, Alfred managed to cajole Arthur in buying him some strange candy to make up for it ("'Coz we're already here and woah, are those really mushrooms?").

Alfred inhaled deeply when they reached the movie theaters, relishing the buttery scent of popcorn in the distance. Now that was something familiar he could associate with. The girl in the ticket window smiled politely, accepting Arthur's money and handing him two tickets in return. "Thank you, come again!" she chirped before spotting Alfred standing off to the side, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he examined his surroundings with interest. "Excuse me! Sir?"

"Uh… me?" Alfred asked, pointing at his own chest with a clueless look about him.

The girl nodded, waving him over with a hurried motion of her hand. "Excuse me, but are you perhaps, American?" she asked in an almost hushed voice, much to Arthur's chagrin.

"Of course he is," Arthur sniffed, "Who in their right mind would dress like _that_ on a daily basis?"

Alfred glanced down at his ensemble: boots, worn jeans, flannel shirt, and his leather jacket. Nothing out of the ordinary. "What's wrong with what I'm wearin'?"

"Absolutely nothing," the girl sighed softly. "You look like a cowboy."

Alfred laughed, his head tilting back slightly as the jovial sound spread far and wide. He pressed a hand to his face before grinning at the girl. "Nah, see my belt buckle ain't big enough, and I ain't wearin' a ten gallon hat or nothin'. So's what I look like is a _farmboy_."

Arthur rolled his sharp green eyes. "And he definitely speaks like one. Now let's not dally here any longer, unless we want to miss our film."

"Right!"

The movie itself was a little boring; some romantic comedy that Arthur had picked simply because it was playing soon. Alfred had his feet settled on the seat in front of him and his phone in his lap, half watching the movie and texting at the same time. Arthur tried to blatantly ignore the atrociously rude behavior.

**[Matticus]**

**So how's London?**

**[Message received 3:47 PM]**

**[Me]**

**Too many people here. Where do u think they all live? The sewers or something? theres no way theres nuff houses round here.**

**[Message sent 3:52 PM]**

**[Matticus]**

**They're called apartments, Alfred. Or... what is it Arthur calls them? Flats? Anyway, about that dare...**

**[Message received 4:01 PM]**

**[Me]**

**Blah blah blah. Ok. Im uh, workin on it – ok? Its not like i can just flyingtacklehug him anytime i want to!**

**[Message sent 4:06 PM]**

**[Matticus]**

**Why not? Isn't he your BEST FRIEND?**

**[Message received 4:07 PM]**

**[King Arthur]**

**I swear to God, Alfred, if you do not stop texting right this instant, you're going to sleep in the alley tonight.**

**[Message received 4:07 PM]**

Alfred grinned, sneaking a few looks over at Arthur, who was slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, grimacing up at the movie before them. Suddenly he had a genius idea.

**[Me]**

**Aww, sorry Art. RomComs aren't my fav, but I'll stop if you give me a hug!**

**[Message sent 4:09 PM]**

He waited a few minutes before Arthur finally, and grudgingly dug out his own phone. Alfred suppressed a laugh when he distinctly heard him sputter.

**[King Arthur]**

**What! Have you lost your mind? Why on Earth would you want a hug – from me no less?**

**[Message received 4:13 PM]**

**[Me]**

**C'mon! Why wouldn't I want a hug from my best buddy? Is it too homo for you? I dont mean to offend ya.**

**[Message sent 4:15 PM]**

Arthur sighed next to him and pocketed his phone. Alfred bit his lip nervously, sliding down in his chair and hoping to appear smaller. So maybe that wasn't the best idea he'd ever had – but goddammit, Matthew had _triple-dog dared him_. And he supposed that he kind of wanted to do it anyway, just to see what Arthur would do, what he'd say. He was so absorbed in the little things that Arthur did in real life; it almost explained everything that Arthur had ever sent him – painted a picture for every word that they wrote back and forth. And it was just so goddamn _enticing_.

Suddenly there was a warm hand on the crook of his elbow and Arthur leaned in close to whisper, "We should talk about this somewhere more private, don't you agree?" in his ear, his hot breath tickling the shell of Alfred's ear.

"Yeah…" Alfred managed to croak out nervously. They stood and shuffled out of the theater just as the acting couple made up (over some kind of stupid fight they had when Alfred didn't feel like paying attention), kissing happily on the big screen.

They walked quickly back to Arthur's apartment, flat, whatever the hell Arthur called his closed off, sparsely decorated living space. Arthur's hand never left the crook of Alfred's elbow and he was all but dragged into the little kitchenette, and sat at the table, watching curiously as Arthur set about making a pot of tea. "So…"

"What do you think of homosexuality?" Arthur asked suddenly, pulling two teacups from his kitchen cupboard, unable to face Alfred. The American could distinctly see the light dusting of a red blush along the back Arthur's ears and neck.

Alfred paused, tilting his chair back onto two legs and rubbing his chin in thought. "In all honesty?" he asked slowly, watching as Arthur nodded his golden mop of hair. "Well, it's a sin," he answered falling forward in his chair until the front legs clattered loudly against the floor. Arthur stiffened in his spot. "But well, everyone sins, right? And some people just can't help who they fall in love with. The good Lord forgives all sins – so what's it matter?"

Arthur glanced over his shoulder suspiciously. "That's a rather broad explanation, don't you think?"

"I guess." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I mean, I ain't really ever thought about it before. Never had the need to. Why? What do _you _think about homosexuality?"

There was a long silence in the room until the kettle began whistling and Arthur took it from the stove, preparing the tea as he thought. Soon enough he set a cup down in front of Alfred, purposefully ignoring the way he sniffed at the liquid questionably. "I see absolutely nothing wrong with it," he answered at last, taking a long sip from his cup. "I mean, as you said, you cannot choose with whom you fall in love with; so what does it matter as long as you're happy?"

Alfred nodded easily, taking a cautious sip of his tea only to recoil and stick out his tongue. "Hot," he muttered in annoyance. "So what brought up this conversation in the first place?" he asked when Arthur sat down in the chair across from him.

"I… well…" Arthur set down his tea, distractedly looking off to the side and out the small window that overlooked the city streets. "Perhaps there's a small something I haven't mentioned these past few years."

"… Really?" Alfred wasn't sure what the cold, hurt feeling was that wedged its way into his chest. There was something about Arthur that he didn't know? Was that even possible? Weren't they best friends? His carefully placed smile slowly faded from his face as the heavy emotion settled itself onto his chest.

Arthur's brows knit in worry. "Don't be offended!" he said, holding his hands up, hoping to pacify the young American. The guilt that crawled into his throat at the saddened look caused his voice to crack a few times as he spoke, "I just… I haven't an idea how you'll react. You… you're very important to me Alfred and… well, I honestly don't want to lose you. I don't want you to hate me."

"There ain't nothing you can say or do that would make me hate you, Arthur! Nothing! You – You're important to me too! You can tell me anything!" In his exuberance, Alfred had stood from his chair, leaning over the table with his too blue eyes wide and frighteningly honest.

Arthur smiled humorlessly. "I'm gay," was all he said. Short, soft – Alfred almost didn't hear him. Arthur waited for the cursing, for the name calling and the disgust; slamming of doors – anything, really. But it never came. He looked up into Alfred's face tentatively only to find a little bit of confusion, but nothing else. "…Alfred?"

The American broke from his trance suddenly, standing back with a pensive look. They spent the next few minutes in contemplative silence, and Arthur thought about his bank account and how much he could shell out to get Alfred a hotel room when he demanded for it. He didn't want Alfred staying in some filthy hostel.

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred asked quietly, his voice sounded childish and inquisitive, so much so that Arthur could only mutely nod at his friend to indicate that he was listening. "Can… can I still hug you?" The question was so sweet and confused that Arthur's heart nearly melted in his chest.

Nodding his head, Arthur stood from his seat as Alfred shyly approached him. And when he was firmly within the American's strong, hardworking arms, his chin resting on a muscled shoulder – Arthur was sure he would wake up from this dream at any moment; because it was simply too good to be true.

- End Chapter Four -

* * *

><p>I was halfway through this chapter when I realized <em>oh noes! No drunk!Alfred until next chapter!<em> And more France, definitely more France. This one was mostly to focus on err… their budding relationship? :D

Really fast, a response to an earlier review (I seriously respond to every single one that I'm able to – and I try to be original to boot :o) from the anonymous: blackcat "how did Arthur pass out on the futon while Francis is in the house with him...they are supposed to be cleaning...and Arthur is passed out...with Francis still there...o.O lol". I like to think of Francis and Arthur as… uh… Frenemies. One of those – hey you, I guess I'll hang out with you, if I have to, but wouldn't touch you if you paid me – kind of relationships. ;) (That and Arthur so kicked him out, but Francis let himself back in 'coz he's a dirty rotten dirty like that. :P)

This a/n is too long. Thank you everyone! And thanks to my beta **Lucia-luce**, who I texted all day while at work telling her that she had to beta this so I could post it tonight. I be trollin'.


	6. Chapter Five: There

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Five: There_

_Important Notes:_ John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium

* * *

><p>Arthur had smelled like books, Alfred decided as he lay in the futon that night, the sheets tangled around his legs as he stared up at the unnatural darkness encompassing the ceiling. That's what it had to be. As soon as Arthur's arms were around him, he'd felt like a small kid back in the library of the neighboring town, prowling through the towering shelves of books that were older than he would ever be, searching for adventure between the isles and pages.<p>

Those musty old books with yellowing pages – Alfred inhaled deeply as if trying to smell a phantom scent. It really brought him back; back when everything was right, back when he had a Ma and a Pa and they were a happy farm town family nestled in the Great Plains.

Something painful stabbed at his chest and he reached for his phone, nearly blinded by the light it produced when he tapped a few of the keys.

**[Me]**

**Matt, I did it. No pic tho… umm… do me a fav? Tell Pa I miss him for me? I wuld call but art is sleepin.**

**[Message sent 2:39 AM]**

Quickly he stuck his phone on silent and tossed it back onto the end table, face down so he couldn't see the lights. He rubbed at his eyes and pressed a pillow to his face in attempts to get himself to sleep. It was difficult. His internal clock told him it was only about eight at night and that he should be up finishing dinner and watching T.V. or playing video games after a long day's work on the ranch.

With a frustrated growl he stared back up at the ceiling, mutely counting sheep and hoping that sleep would come before Arthur woke up.

* * *

><p>"So I was thinking that today we visit the park and then head to the pub when it gets late," Arthur was saying as he began preparing tea and sandwiches for a small lunch.<p>

Alfred nodded distractedly as he flipped the T.V. channel again. British television was kind of boring – where were the cartoons? There had to be cartoons in every country, right? He closed his eyes when the station turned to some news broadcasting show and flopped back onto the futon, mussing up the sheets and blankets. "Okay, sure," he grumbled out, throwing a pillow over his face. Damn, he felt like shit.

The kitchen noises stopped short and soon the pillow was peeled slowly away from his face. "Are you well, poppet?" Arthur asked, his fiercely green eyes studying Alfred's face closely.

With a stuffy sounding sniff, Alfred scrunched up his face. "Poppet?" he asked incredulously, "What's that even mean?"

"Ah…" Arthur flushed and tore his eyes away from Alfred's face. "Nothing in particular. Are you hungry still? I'm almost finished."

"Yeah. Hey I can I borrow your computer for a bit? I prolly should check my email." He asked the ceiling, tossing an arm over his eyes pathetically.

Arthur grunted from the kitchenette, the noises stopping once more as Arthur retreated towards his room, mumbling something along the lines of, "_It's probably – three syllables. And he was doing so well…"_

The quiet droning of the T.V. in Arthur's absence lulled Alfred into a state of drowsiness. He hadn't slept much the night before, his mind a whirligig of thoughts and questions and sheep that didn't help him sleep _at all_. Arthur was gay – so what, right? Nothing had changed; they were still friends – best friends. So it wasn't like he had to worry about anything. But… something _had _changed, hadn't it?

He moaned feebly, rolling over and pressing his face into the pillow. Did Arthur find him attractive, maybe? And if he did, what was he supposed to do about it? Or was he even supposed to do anything? He didn't think he minded, but…

"Here you are," Arthur said suddenly, settling his laptop next to Alfred's stomach. The UK version of yahoo was up and running and Alfred recognized it as Arthur's homepage. "Now honestly, are you feeling well? You look pale, which is a considerable feat, seeing that summer tan of yours. You'll have skin cancer before you know it at this rate."

"Thanks, Ma," Alfred snorted, suddenly falling silent and pensive at his own sentence. He glanced up at Arthur who had quieted as well, his fingers weaving around one another nervously. "Sorry. I didn't mean ta make it uncomfortable," he muttered as he began typing in the URL for his email.

Arthur sat next to him on the futon, leaning against the back of the couch and sighing. "It's quite alright," he said easily, turning his attention to the boring news show on the television. "The tea is getting cold." Neither of them moved.

Alfred grunted in response, logging into his email and flicking through the emails and spam alike. Oh yeah, he was going to have to preorder that game soon. "I kinda don't wanna get drunk in public," Alfred said after a minute or so. "I've never even been tipsy, so I dunno what I'm gunna be like, you know?"

**From: Antonio Carriedo (acarriedo a hps . edu);**

**LIFE IS TOO SHORT! MAKE A WISH AND SEND THIS EMAIL TO 10 FRIendS WITHIN FIVE MINTUES OF READING THIS AND LUCK WILL CMOE YOU'RE WAY! YOUR WISH WILL COME TRUE!**

"Yes, I understand," Arthur agreed, his eyes reading over the email as well. "And I hope that didn't come with a virus," he added tightly.

Alfred laughed. "Nah, it's just my teacher. And he's kinda stupid about these things." He looked up at Arthur with a smile. "So drinks here in your apartment?"

**To: Antonio Carriedo (acarriedo a hps . edu);**

**Why are you sending me chain letters from your school email?**

Arthur nodded and shuffled his way off the futon after a long, sleepy moment. It was comfortable, just lazing around together. Alfred missed the way the futon dipped down when Arthur sat next to him. "Is there anything in particular you want?" Arthur asked from the kitchenette, finishing their lunches and grimacing lightly at the cooling tea, setting the kettle back on the stove.

"Whatever doesn't taste gross," was Alfred's only response. "That means no gin, yuck." Arthur rolled his eyes.

**From: Gilbert Beilschmidt (2awesome2handle a comcast . net);**

**So I hear you're in Europe, eh? And you didn't even bother to tell me – ME, your **_**amazingly awesome A.P. Physics teacher**_**! I could've been your escort or something – we could've made a quick side trip to Hungary. But no. You didn't tell me. I thought we were friends, Al. This is completely **_**unawesome**_**. Yeah, you read that right. UNAWESOME. You're going to be in some serious butthurt when you get back. No joke man.**

**By the way, ignore Toni's spam mails. He's thinking about proposing to Lovino and is pretty much pissing himself with sappy homo joy. And this is just from thinking about it. Imagine what he'll do when he decides to actually DO it. God save us all.**

**The Awesome Me**

Alfred paused, his fingers hovering over the keys of the keyboard as he read the email again. Mr. C was thinking about _proposing_? "…Weird," was the only thing he could think to say, garnering Arthur's attention as he brought Alfred a small paper plate.

"What is it?" Alfred sniffed miserably as he allowed Arthur to lean over him, skimming the email for himself. He took his plate and set it on the bed next to the computer. "Thinking of marriage? And they're both men, yes?" Arthur's brows furrowed when Alfred simply nodded his head. "You mean… like a civil partnership, then?"

The American shrugged, scrolling down and tapping the reply button. "I have no idea what that is," he said, glancing up at Arthur. "He's _probably _– three syllables! Thinking of headin' over to Iowa and getting married. Like, married, married – yanno, husband and uh… husband."

Arthur crawled onto the bed as well, cradling his own plate close. "You mean to tell me that same-sex marriage is legal in America?"

"Uh… Well, yes and no?" Alfred scratched his head. This wasn't something he'd ever thought he'd have to explain. Usually it was just… common knowledge – politics to talk about over dinner.

**To: Gilbert Beilschmidt (2aweseome2handle a comcast . net);**

**Tell him to either stop thinking about it, or grow a pair and just ask him. Dr. Vargas will probably say no anyway. Or Father Feli might have something to say about the whole deal. I dunno.**

**Oh, and Europe is so badass. The weather is pretty nice, too. I think I might go for a walk and think about how I'm in Europe and how you're not. Maybe buy you a postcard. **

**Al**

"Basically," Alfred started to say, sending the email with a sigh, "That marriage is legal in like… I think four? No, six states. It's a bit weird, but… You can get married and whatnot but, if they go an' get married in Iowa, as soon as they come back to Nebraska, the law don't recognize their marriage." He slumped forward onto the futon, closing his eyes sleepily. "So basically it'd just be for the… I don't know. They get rings and can call each other husbands. Dunno what good that is."

Arthur nodded slowly, watching as Alfred shut down the laptop before taking a bite of his sandwich. "It has to be better than nothing, don't you agree? Being able to call the one you love husband, that's a privilege in and of itself."

"I suppose, I ain't never thought about it before." He shut the laptop and pushed it aside. Alfred sent Arthur a curious look as he stretched out over the futon, pulling his plate in front of his face. Arthur merely stared contemplatively at the wall ahead of them – somewhere to the right of the buzzing T.V. "So, I think ya said something about a park earlier? I don't wanna be cooped up like a hen all day."

The Englishman snorted at the idiom before standing and heading back into the kitchenette to finish his lunch. After disposing of the plate and washed the tea cups, he told Alfred to get dressed for rain. Alfred stuffed his feet into his boots, pulling his jeans down over the tops and standing, wiggling his toes to adjust his socks a little. He watched with a hint of amusement at Arthur paced about, tidying up a bit as he ran through a mental checklist of all that they would need while they were out when suddenly the house phone rang shrilly.

"Who on Earth would be belling now?" Arthur asked no one in particular as he rushed to the phone and picked it up in mid-ring. After a few grumbled greetings and a long silence, Arthur finally muttered some kind of agreement before hanging up sharply, sighing and pulling his coat from his coat rack.

Alfred waited as Arthur grumpily fished his pockets for his keys and stuffed his feet into a pair of sleek black shoes with extra force before deciding to ask, "So who called?"

Arthur glanced up sharply to which Alfred grinned sheepishly, making Arthur sigh in defeat. It was hard to stay angry with Alfred around. "My brother belled. He and some of my other siblings would like to meet for supper."

"Well that ain't so bad. You're making it seem like the end of the world or somethin'," the American said easily, pushing off the wall and picking up Arthur's black umbrella, handing Arthur the one with the Union Jack on it and stuck out his tongue.

"That's because you haven't met them. You wouldn't understand."

"Maybe, maybe not," Alfred replied as he followed Arthur out of the flats and out into the misty drizzle outside. It wasn't enough to be considered rain, but it was cool and moist and Arthur opened his umbrella anyway and Alfred huddled next to him. A tiny crashing noise brought Alfred's attention to the alley next to the building Arthur lived in. He spotted a skinny orange tabby cat hopping into an open trash bin before he lost sight of it as they continued down the sidewalk at Arthur's maddening pace. "So are we taking the bus again?" he asked as they walked down the streets after a few minutes, growing tired of the sound of their shoes slapping against the wet pavement.

Arthur merely shook his head, only looking up from his feet to check street signs and to scan traffic before sprinting across streets. "C'mon, Arthur! Say somethin'! This silence is killing me," he whined. When Arthur only sighed and knocked his elbow against his own, Alfred frowned, feeling somewhat hurt. "What? Am I boring you already?" he asked lowly.

With a sudden, narrow glance, Arthur stopped in his tracks, facing Alfred with bright green eyes. "Don't be stupid," Arthur bit out, although his brows knit with signs of worry. "I simply have too much on my mind at the moment. It's nothing to do with you." Slowly Arthur grasped the crook of Alfred's elbow and tugged him closer as he began walking down the street once more. "You really are troublesome."

Alfred glanced down at Arthur's hand on his arm as they went, smiling to himself. Arthur must have noticed his staring and pulled his hand away with a faint coloring of his pale cheeks. "I… I apologize for that… it's just, erm…"

"Nah, I kinda like it when you do that," Alfred insisted brightly. "I feel like a southern gentleman when you do!" Stopping, Alfred held his elbow out to Arthur, bowing slightly, "Shall we, madam?" he said, poorly imitating Arthur's accent on purpose.

Arthur snorted, winding his hand through Alfred's arm. "Smarmy bastard," he muttered lightly, trying to fight down the smile that forced the corners of his lips upwards when he was supposed to be upset.

Soon enough they reached the park entrance just as the clouds began to clear and long shafts of warm sunlight spilled down, illuminating the dew and puddles with a shining golden hue. "Woah, this park is huge!" Alfred exclaimed looking from left to right. "How long do we have before we have to meet your family?"

"Four hours, more or less," was the tamed answer. Alfred grinned. "If you don't mind too much, I'd like to stroll through the gardens."

Alfred shrugged and let Arthur pull him along as he gazed around at the neatly trimmed grass and still waters of a shaded pond. The garden that Arthur chose was fenced off and blooming with summer flowers and early fall roses, loose petals dusting the rustic walkway. And even though Alfred wasn't feeling his best, the fresh smell of outdoors and clean rain made his head feel less like it was going to fly away at any minute and he was able to breathe easier.

As soon as they were within the gardens, Arthur's quick paced walk switched into a leisurely stroll as he went about examining the flowers, sometimes stopping to lightly brush petals and leaves between his fingers. Alfred's phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out quietly as to not disturb Arthur's little euphoria.

**[Matticus]**

**Call your dad tonight… And where's my pornographic evidence?**

**[Message received 3:06 PM]**

**[Me]**

**. . . . . **

**[Message sent 3:07 PM]**

**[Matticus]**

**ROFL! That was the worst/best autocorrect of my life! Photographic – picture! It doesn't count without proof.**

**[Message received 3:10 PM]**

**[Matticus]**

**Also, you need to get back soon. I do NOT want to have to help your dad stud out Boss EVER AGAIN. Horse sex is gross.**

**[Message received 3:12 PM]**

Alfred choked on a laugh and stuck his phone back in his pocket, startling a bit when he noticed that Arthur was staring at him. "Something?" Arthur asked.

"It's just Matt," Alfred said with a shrug, "Complaining about having to pick up on my chores while I'm out."

Arthur made an understanding noise in the back of his throat as he turned his attention back to the gardens. "Sometimes I wish I could move further out to the country side," he said as his fingertips grazed over a waxy leaf. "I've always wanted a garden of my own."

"Really? You can't have one in your apartment?"

Arthur gave him a sardonic look. "Right. Yes, I'll just plant some roses in the floorboards, brilliant idea."

"That's not what I meant and ya know it!" Alfred huffed, giving the ground a glum look. "I meant like, potted plants, you know?"

The Englishman sighed as he led them from the garden and down a wide walking path. "Yes, I know. But it wouldn't be the same, and it would be a right hassle making sure they received enough sunlight."

They walked a while in silence, simply listening to the sounds of the city and people around them. Alfred missed the quiet back on the ranch; none of the car noise or shouting people. Just the gentle sound of the wind, the hiss of insects in the afternoon, the occasional low moo from the cattle – the city seemed to have a life of its own.

"Ma used to have a garden," he found himself saying as they approached a large statue of what looked to be gummy bears, but in human shape instead of bear. He puzzled over it for a moment before turning an inquisitive stare onto Arthur, who had taken to looking at his shoes. "It was out back – filled with all sorts of flowers all year round it seemed." He gazed back up at the statue, shifting closer to Arthur. "When she… after we got the news, me an' Pa, we never touched the garden for a couple years. Most of the flowers died – the marigolds spread like wildfire though, but they're gone now too."

Arthur looked up from his feet, grasping Alfred's elbow a bit tighter. "Was this little story supposed to have a happy ending?" he asked when Alfred remained in silent thought for a couple minutes.

"Oh!" Alfred chuckled lightly, however subdued. "The thing is, even after all those years of neglect and bein' mowed over, there's this one rosebush – some kind of _'fairy rose' _I remember Ma callin' it. It kept growin' back, over and over, no matter what. It's still there, you know. It kinda climbs the side of the house. I mulch it every year and keep it from getting too tall. Pa doesn't seem to mind, but he kind of pretends it doesn't exist, I think." Alfred shrugged. "I dunno if there's a meaning to it all or if it's a happy endin' or anything. But, I guess some things just don't die, you know?"

Arthur smiled thinly, turning away from the statue. "Yes, yes I know precisely what you mean."

Alfred gave Arthur a crooked smile, following his friend closely as he began to leave. They walked further through the park towards the open, grassy fields. Alfred stopped in his tracks when a ball came rolling gently into their path. He stooped and picked up the ball, grinning and watching as a group of children around the ages of six or seven, came running up to them, their eyes wide and hopeful. "Sorry Mister," a boy with unruly hair said, holding his arms out expectantly, "That's our football."

"Is it? You kids playin' soccer? Can I join y'all?" Alfred asked cheerfully, oblivious to the strange looks the children gave him. He tossed the ball a few times before laughing. "C'mon! You guys look really good at this game! Maybe you could even show me how to get real good at it!"

A girl looked up at him with calculating eyes. "Our teams won't be even," she said primly. "We _have _to have even teams!"

"My buddy Arthur here'll play with us!" Alfred answered, pointing at Arthur as the Englishman blustered about being volunteered so rudely. "Won'tcha, Arthur?"

"I most certainly will no–"

"See! He'll play!"

One of the boys cracked a grin. "Ginny! Let's have 'em play! I bet fifty pence we can beat these wankers."

The girl of the ragtag group set her hands on her hips, pursing her lips tightly. She was definitely going to grow up into a feisty one, Alfred noted. "Fine, but you have to do what I say, no matter what!"

Gleefully Alfred complied with the rule and a few minutes later he and Arthur were standing on the opposite side of the field as the group of kids. "Hey, what happened to havin' even teams?" he yelled down the field where the girl, Ginny, dribbled the ball back and forth in little circles.

"You're big;" one of the boys shouted back, "Two of you makes four of us! It's even!"

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "How the hell did I end up here?" he asked no one in particular as the girl stopped dribbling the ball and set it down on the moist grass. As they prepped to begin the game, one of the kids said something about _'the old guy in the jumper will be the easiest to get around'_, and Arthur suddenly rolled up his sleeves with a competitively concentrated frown. "Alfred, so help me, if I lose a game of football to a bunch of blooming tykes, I'll never forgive you."

The American chuckled somewhat nervously. "Uh… I'll try. I never said I was any good at this…"

With a shout of, "Ready! Set! Go!" from Ginny, the game started and Arthur tore off down the field, leaving Alfred behind to goalie and gawk at the fierce sportsmanship Arthur possessed. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Arthur had it in him, but to _see_ the athletic display from the normally gruff blond was definitely something to behold. Alfred smiled.

It wasn't until the sun began to dip down in the sky that the children professed their need to return home for supper, and they called the game a tie since no one had bothered to keep score (although Arthur would later claim that they definitely held the victory). Alfred fell onto a nearby bench with a satisfied sigh, stretching his legs and picking stray bits of grass from his jeans.

"That was fun, wasn't it Arthur?" he asked happily, watching as Arthur scraped a thick layer of mud from the bottom of his shoes onto the paved trail. "I had no idea you were so fast! I remember you said you were on the football team back in school, but _damn_."

"Yes, I played in the football team; however, I never said I was good." He ran his hands through his mussed hair and smiled, wide and closed mouthed in sheer contentment. It was a smile that suited Arthur to a T Alfred decided with a small, unwanted flush. He wanted to see Arthur smile like that more often. "Is there something on my face?"

Alfred startled, fumbling over words and half-thought excuses, "No! Sorry! I was just… you… you look real nice when you smile, is all." Arthur blushed profusely, coughing into a fist as he turned away and Alfred slapped his palm to his face. Could he sound any more stupid? "So, uh… about dinner…?" he tried instead, desperate to rid the atmosphere of awkward tension.

Arthur nodded, checking his watch and sighing, hoping to rid himself of his blotchy red cheeks. "We should head out now if we're to make our appointment," he mumbled as he briskly took Alfred's arm and began walking off with a purposeful gait.

Alfred followed Arthur down the busy streets, glancing around curiously as they went, but never straying any further than arms length away from his English friend. London seemed like the worst place in the world to get lost in right now. The restaurant they were to meet at was small but clean. Almost as soon as they walked in they were attended to by a cute blonde waitress, and when Arthur told her who he was, she led them to a round table that was already occupied three others.

Alfred stopped behind Arthur, unsure of what he was supposed to do in this kind of situation, and gratefully took a seat next to a pale, red headed girl when Arthur pointed to the empty chair. "It's wonderful to meet your acquaintances once again," Arthur drawled as he hooked the strap of his umbrella on the back of his chair.

"Who's your friend?" the girl next to Alfred asked, leaning across the table as if to examine him more closely. "He seems a bit too pretty to be out with you, I'd say."

There was a long, tense moment of silence as the three redheads at the table exchanged looks and glares with Arthur and the others. Alfred coughed awkwardly and waved sheepishly when two sets of green eyes and two sets of blue looked up at him. "Uh, hello, I'm Alfred F. Jones… I'm Arthur's friend from the U.S."

"No fecking way! He's _real_!" one of the men exclaimed, his blue eyes wide and the freckles that dusted the bones of his cheeks stretching with his look of disbelief.

The woman next to him tusked. "It could be a trick," she said, "It wouldn't be hard to get some dumb American to run around and call himself Alfred."

"Hey! I ain't dumb! And my name's really Alfred!"

The tallest redhead of the group scoffed. "He even talks American. Ya can never be sure!"

"You're right." The woman waved over the waitress and then stared pointedly at Alfred. "Would you like a fizzy drink?" she asked sweetly.

Alfred paused, and then glanced at Arthur, who had buried his face onto the wooden tabletop, his fists clenched so tightly in his lap that his knuckles were white. "Uh… what the heck is a fizzy drink?" he finally asked when no one bothered explaining it.

"A soda," Arthur grumbled into the tabletop.

"Ohh! Do you guys have coke?"

The redheads at the table all seemed to relax at once, all ordering drinks and laughing when Arthur ordered a gin on the rocks. "So! I suppose it's time for introductions," the woman said, pulling her drink closer to herself. "My name is Chloe, and that," she pointed to the redheaded man with freckles, "Is my brother Connor."

Connor mumbled something along the lines of _'unfortunately'_ under his breath, and Chloe harrumphed.

"And m'name is John – our other brother, Oliver, he –"

Alfred smiled thinly, "He's in D.C. – yeah, Arthur told me," he said, gaining a few raised brows from the others at the table. Arthur took a long drink of his gin, his face scrunching up at the taste. "Hey don't drink that too fast! You still gotta take me back home!"

Arthur grumbled darkly, but complied anyway. And as the conversation at the table dove straight into Arthur's childhood (most of which Alfred already knew, so there wasn't anything _too _embarrassing about it), Arthur couldn't help but wish for the day to be over with already.

* * *

><p>- <span>Arthur<span> -

**[Frog]**

**I do hope you're enjoying your time with your american beau~! ;x ;x**

**[Message received 9:34 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Go die.**

**[Message sent 9:36 PM]**

**[Frog]**

**Don't forget about your good friend Francis when you're discussing the details of your lovebird adventures~!**

**[Message received 9:37 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Go die. Twice.**

**[Message sent 9:41 PM]**

* * *

><p>"Your siblings aren't so bad," Alfred was saying as Arthur opened the door to his flat, fumbling with his phone in his other hand. He would be lying if he said he wasn't slightly tipsy right now. "Although John is kinda strange. And I swear Chloe has a crush on you or something. "What do you think Arthur? Arthur this, Arthur that. It was… weird."<p>

Arthur grunted something in response as he made his way into the kitchenette, pulling out two square glasses, a bottle of rum and a liter of coke. "Whatcha doin', Arthur?" Alfred asked and peered over his shoulder. Arthur had to repress a shiver when the American accidently breathed on the back of his neck.

"I'm going to get piss drunk and pretend that the last few hours didn't happen," he said with a matter of fact tone. "You should join me, it's the whole bloody reason you hopped the pond."

Alfred frowned as he watched Arthur throw ice in the glasses before adding the rum and coke, half and half. "It's not my only reason," Alfred protested as he accepted the glass that Arthur held out to him. "It was the best excuse I could think of at the time."

"Don't fret over the details," Arthur said, moving to sit at the table to nurse his drink. "Might as well drink up, lad."

"Well… I s'pose…" Alfred took an experimental sip, coughing and sputtering when the alcohol burned its way down his throat. "T-that's kinda strong," he muttered in his defense when Arthur snorted amusedly into his own drink.

"Sip it – it takes a bit to get used to it," he instructed, finding that watching Alfred drink was much more entertaining than drinking himself. Tonight held promise of being interesting after all.

* * *

><p>"A-and so when he turned ta walk away, I… I went n' I pushed 'em down." Alfred erupted into a fit of giggles, attempting to finish his story through the obstructive laughter and mangling his words, "An –and –an…! Oh, Art, y- you – he fell in a fresh cow pie. H-his face wa – was so-oo priceless!"<p>

Arthur leaned onto the table, his chin in his palm as he listened to Alfred recount how he once bullied some kid when he was twelve (which in all honesty couldn't be called bullying if he pushed the other boy down once, but it was Alfred's tale nonetheless). With his free hand he swirled the ice in his cup. He wasn't nearly as drunk as he wanted to be, but Alfred on the other hand…

He wanted to remember this night always.

"You really are a troublesome lad, aren't you?" he asked rhetorically, raising a brow at the boisterous American.

Alfred nodded enthusiastically, taking another long sip of his – what Arthur was sure was his fourth, but he could be wrong – rum and coke. "Butcha love me anyway, duncha, Art?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

Arthur smiled wryly. "Yes, yes, of course," was his easy response, as he waved a hand about passively. Alfred had been asking him strange questions this past hour, and this was no different. He paused momentarily, a rather ingenious thought penetrating his mind. "Do… do you… perhaps love me as well?" Arthur asked carefully, pushing his glass around on the table top as Alfred took another long drink.

There was a short silence as Alfred considered the question, pressing a hand to his rosy cheeks in thought. "It's a tr-trick question, ain't that? I'm on ta you," Alfred garbled out at last, pointing shakily at Arthur, one of his blue, blue eyes squinting in drunken suspicion and Arthur had to repress the urge to roll his eyes. "Imma gunna tell ya that I like ya an'… a-an' then yer jus' gunna… _leave _me – all con-confused about… everythin'... And then… I-I'll… then… I dun w-want that!" Alfred harrumphed as Arthur's face turned a sweet shade of pink. "No can do, Artie boy – no-nope! I'm way smarter than ya think!"

The Englishman coughed into a fist to mask his embarrassment and his bubbling laughter. If drunken words be honest… Lord he hoped so – he'd never hoped for anything more in the entirety of his life. "Truly your intellect is something to be admired," he said, watching with amusement when Alfred nodded, cocksure, and downed more of his rum and coke. Arthur cocked his head to the side. "So, Alfred, are you a virgin?"

Alfred nearly spat out his drink at the blunted question, looking up at Arthur with glassy blue eyes. "M-me?" he asked, pointing dumbly at himself.

"You've no need to be embarrassed, lad. It was a simple yes or no question. You needn't answer it," Arthur said, shrugging and returning to pushing around the ice in his glass with a finger. "I was simply curious."

An overly exaggerated, drunken sigh emerged from Alfred's lips and the young blond pushed his face into his hands. "Y-yeah… I am… b-but! Uh-hh, it's 'coz I… Imma waitin' f-for the _one_." He buried his face further into his hands with a choking grumble. "N…not 'coz I dun wanna or anythin'…" Alfred pried his fingers away from eyes to gauge Arthur's reaction, but Arthur only shrugged and pointed out that the notion was truly admirable of the American. "An' what 'bout you-yerself?" he asked defensively.

Arthur looked away, his line of sight falling on his glass, the wall, his feet, anywhere but Alfred. "I do believe you've had enough for one night," he said after a long moment, hoping against all hope that Alfred was far gone enough to allow the subject to drop.

"Yeah… prolly… I'm kinda sleepy…" As if to prove his point, Alfred yawned loudly and stretched his arms upwards towards the ceiling. Arthur sighed in relief and put their glasses in the sink for later before helping Alfred from his chair and lugging him to the futon, letting the American fall onto the mattress with a grunt. "Hold – wait!" Alfred stuttered as Arthur bid him a goodnight and began to retreat to his own room for some much needed thought.

"Yes, poppet?" Arthur asked softly when Alfred held him by the back of his shirt. "Is there something you need?"

Alfred let go of his shirt and began to make grabbing motions with his hands at him, flexing his fingers open and closed. "Don't… don't leave me…" the American muttered, "It's… real – it's dark in here. Too dark…" He pouted heavily. "S-stay? You… you can fight the monsters for me. I – I'm too tired."

Arthur bit his lower lip with trepidation, trying to ignore how insanely adorable Alfred was at the moment. "You will be the death of me," he finally said in a defeated tone, pulling his mobile from his pocket with a sigh as Alfred celebrated his little victory with a fist pump. "Take your shoes off, at the very least."

With little hesitation Alfred did as he was told, prying the boots from his feet and tossing them over the side of the futon, scooting over and making room for Arthur. The Englishman toed off his own shoes before crawling under the blankets that Alfred generously held open for him, enjoying the unnatural warmth that Alfred seemed to put off and the distinct smell of rum on his breath.

"Sleep tight," Alfred murmured with a voice laced thickly with sleep before his eyes slipped shut and his breathing slowed and evened.

Arthur stared up at him in the darkness, reaching up to pull his forgotten glasses from his face and placing them on the end table. "Oh, Alfred," he whispered into the night, curling up near the American without actually touching him, "What are we going to do?" And despite the heavy question that weighed down on his mind, Arthur quickly fell into a restful sleep with Alfred at his side.

There was always time to question the reality of their situation later.

- End Chapter Five -

* * *

><p>Let's see… what to say? I'm feelin' a bit lame with this chapter, but maybe that's just because I haven't been feelin' too hot lately, and it's more seriousinformative than some of the previous chapters. D: Alfred leaves next chapter, though. /sadface (Expect the angst/longing/omgthissrslysuksballs to come soon.)

Happy Halloween (to those that it applies –herp derp-)! Guess what I was? That's right! A polar bear (hug me, Matthew…). :D Happy Belated Birthday to **Lady Skorpio **who happened to get an update for a b-day present. xD

Thanks to **Lucia-luce **for betaing and convincing me that this chapter wasn't as crappy as I made it sound. Btw, Luce, one disliker of hamburgers, ate two McDonald's cheeseburgers on Oct. 29th at 8pm. _Two_! Join me on the Dark Side. :D (_I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a burger today.)_

Holy shiznits, it's the a/n from hell.


	7. Chapter Six: Far

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Six: Far_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angélique/Angie – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium

* * *

><p>Arthur sighed heavily over the sink, the humid vapor of heated water tickled at his face as he contemplated the dishes rather than cleaning them. The past few days had been a whirlwind of guiding tours around London, spontaneous meet and greets with his siblings (honestly, Chloe was <em>far <em>too fond of Alfred), and the occasional disaster involving his, current, worst enemy.

Francis.

The morning after drinks, Arthur was expecting to wake up with a mild headache, perhaps, sneak out of the bed before Alfred could take notice, and sit for tea to stew over his tumultuous thoughts. Nothing too strange, besides sleeping in the same bed as his childhood friend, but that could easily be forgiven after drinks. Needless to say, his morning did not turn out as routine as he would have liked.

Instead of waking as he planned, his first sight was of checkered blue flannel covering Alfred's slowly rising and falling chest. Second, he had noticed that he was warm – uncomfortably so. In the night, Alfred had managed to pull him closer, or maybe he had moved himself, and he was trapped in a sleeping embrace as he were merely a stuffed toy. Thirdly, when he looked up for a possible route of escape, he was met with mischievous, laughing blue eyes and the lens of a digital camera.

It had been a disaster. Francis had let himself into his flat (he'd thought he gotten rid of that spare key!) and his first reaction had been to yell, if not a little groggily, which in turn had woken Alfred to the worst (and probably first) hangover of his life. Arthur scrubbed a baking sheet roughly. It had taken him almost half an hour to kick Francis out and soothe Alfred, explaining that no, a hangover wouldn't kill him, no matter how much he vomited. And it had all been Francis' fault; the same Francis that was now knocking at the door of his flat.

"I hate the French," Arthur mumbled heatedly under his breath, pulling his hands from the dishwater and drying them on a towel. Alfred stared at him from over the back of the sofa as if a real life drama were unfolding before his very eyes. Arthur simply shrugged the look off and wrenched open the door. "What do you want?" he spat out bitterly. Today wasn't a good day. He was exhausted from playing tour guide all day.

Francis grinned at him, pressing down the wrinkles of his own, too high-fashion for Arthur's tastes, blouse. "Ah, I'm so flattered that you missed me so," he said cheekily, "As I can only gather from your wondrous greeting."

Arthur frowned. "I asked what the hell you want, Francis," he deadpanned. "I'm not in any mood for your shenanigans."

"Shenanigans? _Moi_? You wound me, dear friend! I simply stopped by to see how you were faring, and you thrash my good intentions so thoroughly." Despite the melodramatic speech, Francis peered inside the flat, spotting Alfred and waved. "I see your _américain _is here. Had you plans?"

"Just watching some telly before bed. Nothing that involves you."

Francis' face scrunched up at his nose. He leaned away from the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets before asking in an easy voice, "How long have you two been married again? The number of years escapes me at the moment."

With a scowl Arthur slammed the door shut and stormed back into the kitchenette, ignoring the way Alfred stuttered and how Francis let himself in.

"Alfred, my friend," Francis greeted cheerfully, falling onto the couch next to the American and grinning. "How are you faring? When do you return to your filth – err… homeland, yes. Sorry, my native tongue seemed to have slipped."

Alfred gave Francis a dubious stare before sniffling loudly. "Alright, I s'pose," he answered thickly. "Leave day after next, but I can't seem ta get ridda this head cold though… Me and Arthur have it down ta the elevation difference. Y'all are too close to sea level. The air is so thick." He sniffled again as if to prove a point. "Sucks…"

Unhurried, Francis inched further down the sofa from Alfred. "I see, how unfortunate that is for you, having to spend your last few days in the wonderful city of London with such an affliction." His smiled turned roguish and he tilted his head back slightly so his voice would project easier into the kitchen behind him as well. "It must be a pure delight to have someone such as Arthur to nurse you to health! He has such gentle hands, _non_?"

Arthur slammed a soapy fist onto the counter as a mortified blush spread across his face and Alfred made an uncomfortable sounding cough. "That's _it_," the Englishman ruffed out, opening a drawer and reaching into the back to pull out a large, ornately decorated knife that his mother had given him as a moving out present. "I'm giving you less than thirty seconds to remove your filthy French arse from my flat before I ritualistically sacrifice you to my pagan demon god!"

Francis paused, careening his head back to wearily eye the knife in Arthur's hand, then to glance at Alfred, and then the door. "Ah, how unfortunate this is, but I just remembered that I have an important date tonight! I'll take my leave – I know how dearly I'll be missed, but it's important!" And with that, Francis all but fled the flat, shutting the door tightly behind himself.

"Uh…"

Arthur tossed the knife back into the drawer with a slump of his shoulders. "I can explain," he said quickly, groaning to himself when Alfred began laughing, loud and slightly wheezy. "And just what is so hilarious?"

Alfred hupped lightly, grinning at Arthur from his spot on the sofa. "You're so funny, Arthur," he croaked, turning to clear his throat before patting the cushion next to him. "You sure are convincing when you're mad though. I bet Francis thought ya really were gunna kill him."

"I would have stabbed him, at the very least," Arthur replied as he sat next to his American after draining the sink and drying his hands, secretly enjoying the way Alfred fell over and used his thigh as a pillow. "I have to keep with pretenses." And there was something warm and oozy inside his chest that melted at how comfortable Alfred was with him – even though not a minute before he was brandishing a knife at another and falsely claimed to have a demon god. "You do realize I was jesting about the pagan rituals and what have you?"

The American hummed in agreement. "Yeah, you're too atheist for that," Alfred murmured. "I feel so gross, Arthur," he whined, snuggling closer to Arthur and pulling a throw from the sofa about his shoulders. "I just wanna curl up and die or something."

Arthur tusked and began running his fingers through Alfred's hair, turning his attention to the buzzing telly screen. "You're such a troublesome child," he muttered as he listened to a woman with a touch too much make up drawn on her face, point out that there would be rain tomorrow – and lots of it.

"You're only three years older than me," Alfred protested, giving a strained sounding sigh. He let his eyes flutter closed and breathed slowly. "I don't want to go," he murmured after a few longs minutes of simply listening to the telly and allowing Arthur to stroke his hair. "But at the same time, I can't wait to climb the nearest mountain."

Arthur chortled softly, flicking Alfred on the top of the head. "You grow used to it, I assure you," he said in response, returning his hand to Alfred's hair. It was such a soothing motion – maybe he really ought to get a cat after all. "And… I've no wish for you leave either."

They sat in a hushed silence, each with their own thoughts weighing down their minds. When Arthur heard Alfred begin snoring quietly, he smiled and jostled his leg a bit to wake the American. Alfred whined when Arthur stood and dusted his hands together. "Come now, if you're going to sleep we need to set up the futon."

"But I don't wanna _move_," Alfred groaned, burying himself as well as he could into the sofa cushions and eliciting a snort from Arthur. One too blue eye pried open up at Arthur and Alfred huffed. "C'mon, I'm gunna be leavin' soon, so you should indulge me a bit."

"Indulge…" Arthur swallowed thickly when his voice failed him for a moment. "I see your vocabulary is picking up, but have you any idea what that even means?" he teased instead, looking for that safe ground in the conversation. Alfred was good at that – pulling him from the usual and forcing him to test new waters; but this… maybe it was going a little _too _far.

Alfred huffed again. "'Course I do! It means lemme do what I want!" He rolled over on the sofa so he could face Arthur. "And I want you to come back here 'coz I was comfy."

He made a show of patting the spot where Arthur had been sitting minutes before; giving the Englishman the best puppy dog eyes he could muster. Arthur had to look away. "You do realize that if I do become your pillow, I'll have no sleep at all."

Alfred seemed to ponder this before he shrugged. "Well… when ya get tired, you can just… lay down too!" For the longest moments they simply stayed in silence as Alfred face went through an entire whirlwind of expressions, ranging from sad to confused to upset right back to confused. "'M sorry, Arthur," Alfred mumbled at last, sitting up with a dry cough. "It sounds stupid, sorry. I just… I don't want to leave you for even a second! And I know it sounds stupid, and I'm sorry, but I can't think of a better way to say it – I'm… not too good with words, yanno?"

The antique clock that hung on Arthur's wall ticked loudly in the droning silence, the telly a mere hum in the background as Arthur felt his heart stop and reset. Slowly he leaned forward and gently touched Alfred's forehead with the back of his knuckles. "Are you feeling worse, poppet?" he asked sincerely. That had to be it, the American must be delusional with fever – there was no other legitimate reason for his outburst. "Should I make a dash to the store?"

"Don't change the subject!" Alfred frowned, but he didn't push Arthur away either. "I'm sittin' here spillin' out my guts to ya, so don't just ignore what I say!"

Arthur sighed and pulled his hand from Alfred's face. The frustration was crystal clear in the American's strained voice. "I apologize, I hadn't meant to upset you," he answered lowly, "But you must understand my hesitation, Alfred. You're painfully confused about… about something. And I don't want to interfere with… whatever it may be."

"Don't worry about it," Alfred said, standing and pulling the knitted throw tightly around his shoulders with one hand. With the other he grasped one of Arthur's wrists and walked purposefully towards the bedroom. "But I'm serious. You have a huge bed, so indulging me shouldn't be a problem, yeah?"

The Englishman stuttered a bit as he followed Alfred into his own bedroom and – oh dear lord, was he sweating? Bloody hell, he was sweating – coughed wearily. "I'm not wearing any nightclothes," he muttered, hoping to deter Alfred.

Unfortunately for him, Alfred only shrugged before letting go of Arthur's wrist and falling onto his bed. "'Mkay, you change. Imma go to sleep now."

After deciding that Alfred would indeed be the death of him, he collected his nightclothes and marched into the bathroom to change and to give himself a little pep talk in the mirror. He would sleep on the far side of the bed, he would wake up excruciating early, he would then proceed to shower and make a batch of scones. Whatever point Alfred was trying to make, it was almost torture on his heart, and yet he felt powerless to stop it. There was just something about Alfred that, no matter how annoying or how atrocious his grammar was, allowed the American to simply worm his way into his life – even an ocean away.

Arthur sighed and checked his face in the mirror before returning to his bedroom. Alfred was already fast asleep, congested, open-mouthed snores emitting softly from his lips, and Arthur relaxed in sheer relief. He crawled carefully into the bed, highly aware of the dip in the mattress that his weight made, before shutting off his bedside lamp and engulfing the room in darkness.

He wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.

* * *

><p>- <span>Alfred<span> -

Alfred woke up the next day to an empty bed. Not that it surprised him, really, but it still made him frown. His head felt stuffy and cottony, but he could breathe through his nose and was immediately elated at the discovery. With a grunt he got out the bed, shedding his pajamas and pulling on a pair of jeans. After a bit of looking around, he deduced that he probably left his shirt in the living room or the bathroom.

With one hand he bundled up his pajamas and with the other he reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his cell phone and checking his messages as he stumbled out towards the living room so he could find a fresh set of clothes and begin packing. His heart sank at the thought, but wishing that he didn't have to leave, didn't make it come true.

**[Matticus]**

**Hey Al do you remember where I put my Vancouver Winter Games shirt at? I found my jersey under your bed.**

**[Message received 1:22 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Check the mudroom hamper. Y r u packing already?**

**[Message sent 11:43 PM]**

**[French Fries]**

**Mon ami Alfred! I wish I could see you off, but alas, I am occupied tomorrow morning! Arthur will miss you dearly~**

**[Message received 10:39 PM]**

Alfred stuffed his phone back into his pocket with a sigh. He really didn't want to be reminded about his impending departure in the morning. He spotted Arthur sitting at the table nursing a steaming cup of tea and a large book spread out on the table before him. A clap of thunder resounded and Alfred perked up, jogging to the window that overlooked the city and pulling up the blinds.

Rain splattered heavily against the window as the sky hung low and gray over the buildings of London. "Ah, look at that rain," he muttered against the glass, wiping away the fog his breath created with amusement. "It's raining big ole crocodile tears." With a smile he turned away from the window and glanced back at Arthur. "Hey Arthur, what do ya wanna do today? I feel better, but that rain looks something fierce."

Arthur glanced up from his book momentarily to regard Alfred's question, only to have his green eyes dart right back to the pages. "Put some clothes on," he snapped, a pink dusting roaming across his cheeks.

"What?" Alfred looked down at his state of undress. It wasn't like he was _naked _or anything. "What's ta be embarrassed about?" he asked, wandering into the kitchen and pulling a scone from a plate on the counter, examining it suspiciously before deciding it was safe to take a bite. "Ain't ya ever seen a guy without a shirt on before?" A few crumbs sprayed from his mouth as he spoke and he held the scone up in front of his lips to keep others from flinging about.

The Englishman sighed heavily. "Of course I've seen shirtless men," he grumbled humorlessly, "Shirtless and then some. In fact, I've seen myself in multiple states of undress."

Alfred laughed and then coughed a few times. "Urgh, okay, I give up. Do you have anything for this?" he asked, placing an open hand on his chest, rubbing small circles into his skin with a pained look on his face.

"I don't. Why do you think I asked earlier?" Arthur stood from his chair and closed his book. "I'll grab you something from the pharmacy. While I'm out, why don't you shower? I can smell your filth all the way over here."

"Alright, alright, fine." He watched as Arthur began readying himself to venture out into the rain, pulling on a trench coat and grabbing his black umbrella from the coat rack. "Hey, be careful out in that rain, okay?" Alfred found himself calling as Arthur opened the door to his flat. When Arthur sent him a curious look in return, he coughed. "Yanno… I uh… don't want ya melting or nothin'."

At that, Arthur snorted before leaving with airy promises that he'd be perfectly fine in a little rain. Alfred watched him go; dashing to the window to peer outside and make sure Arthur made it down the road safely. He couldn't really help himself. Weather like this back home usually never boded too well. Once he couldn't see the top of Arthur's bland black umbrella, he peeled himself away from the window and ran a hand through his hair. He supposed he might as well do as he was told for the moment.

The steamy shower helped decongest his lungs, and he slipped into his last set of clean clothes – some of his Sunday Best – preening the collar of his shirt a bit before tucking himself into his leather jacket and emptying the garbage can. So he was a bit bored, he could be helpful when he wanted to.

He opened the apartment door and scanned the hallway for a garbage chute – maybe this hadn't been a great idea after all.

"Oh… You're not Arthur," a light and cheery voice said from his right, making him jump slightly. "Oops! Did I scare you? Sorry!" A man with fine, pale blond hair stood in front of the door next to Arthur's. He had a gentle smile on his cherubic face and there was a half-drowned looking orange tabby in his arms.

Alfred smiled back sheepishly. "Erm, hello," he decided to say after an awkward moment. "I'm Alfred, a friend of Arthur's. I'm visiting from America."

The man made an understanding face, taking a moment to pry the cat's claws from his jacket before responding. "Hello Alfred! You certainly sound American! I visited there once or twice before when I was younger. California was too hot, and they said it was winter!" He laughed softly and Alfred wondered how such a baby faced guy even made it through middle school. "Oh! I completely forgot! My name is Tino – I'm Arthur's next door neighbor. We – my, uhm, flatmate and I – moved to London just a few years ago from Finland. Well, he's from Sweden, but that's beside the point, and now I'm just rambling, I'm sorry."

"It's nice ta meet'cha," Alfred said with a grin.

"Likewise." Tino shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Actually, Alfred, do you know if Arthur would happen to like to have a cat?"

The American paused, rubbing at his chin with a free hand in thought. "Well… he's mentioned it a coupla times…" He eyed the tabby that latched onto Tino's chest. "Why?"

Tino sighed. "Eh… This poor guy here – I've seen him out in the alley now for a few weeks, and today I finally managed to coax him out of hiding, but…" he glanced at the closed door to his own apartment. "We've already got a dog – Hanatamago. I don't think they'd get along much…"

Alfred looked from the cat to Tino's pleading baby face and then back at the cat. "Ah, shucks, what could it hurt?"

Happily Tino pried the cat from his jacket and carefully handed the frightened feline to Alfred. "So, what are you going to name it?" he asked enthusiastically, watching as Alfred set down the trash bag to grasp the tabby and stroke it behind its wet ears. "Oh! The rubbish chute is just around the corner! Let me get that for you!"

"He needs an awesome name," Alfred said once Tino returned, thanking the other man. "Something that really makes you think, _'wow'_."

Tino tapped at his cheek for a moment. "Aha! How about Cheese Castle! I've always been fond of that name."

"Err…" Alfred paused. "That's original," he managed to say. "But I kinda like where you're going with this. How 'bout something louder – like… Sparkle-Burger!"

"_Bloody_ Sparkle-Burger!"

Alfred nodded. "Yeah! Bloody Sparkle-Burger Ninja the tenth!"

With a childish smile Tino gave a sage huff of agreement. "We can call him BSBNX for short."

They were interrupted by the ringing of Tino's cell phone. Tino answered it easily, mumbling a few things cheerfully before hanging up. "Well I've got to get dinner started soon. We should exchange numbers!"

"Yeah, that'd be awesome!"

* * *

><p>It took him nearly fifteen minutes to get the orange tabby, who Alfred realized couldn't be more than a few months old, dried and a bowl of shallow water to drink. He wasn't sure what to feed cats other than cat food and mice, so he figured he'd just wait for Arthur to come back.<p>

And it wasn't too long until Arthur had come back, opening the door and stomping the water from his shoes. BSBNX had curled up on Alfred's lap as he watched T.V. and the American was surprised at how confident the kitten was around people. Most cats hid under a desk or something for the first few days in a new home.

There was a bit of shuffling before a little paper bag was thrust into his face. "What is that?" The words were slow, grinded and highly annunciated.

Alfred frowned at the pharmacy's logo. "A bag?"

Arthur pulled the bag away from his line of sight and glared down at him with shining green eyes. "No, I meant that filthy creature on your lap."

"Oh – that's BSBNX!" he exclaimed, sitting up to scratch the kitten behind the ears. "Your neighbor, Tino, found 'im and was lookin' to give him a home. And I know you've been thinking about gettin' a cat, so I thought… why not?" He grinned widely. "A gift from me to you!"

There was a long moment as Arthur simply regarded the orange tabby in Alfred's lap. Finally he sighed and reached out, rubbing the kitten under the chin and grimacing at his damp fur. "Out in the rain…" he mumbled to himself. "And what is this about BBS…X?"

"BSBNX! It's short for Bloody Sparkle-Burger Ninja the tenth! Great name, don'tcha think? Tino helped me come up with it!"

Arthur visibly recoiled at the name, grimacing heavily. "No. Absolutely not. If I'm to keep him, he'll need a proper name," he said sternly.

Alfred paused in thought. "Like Stan?"

"What – no, never you mind. He needs a decent name – one that suits… a cat."

They sat in a relative silence, simply pondering what to name the lax kitten beyond Fluffy or Princess. Suddenly Alfred got an idea and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Arthur, Art! You should name him Excalibur! Like that sword!"

Arthur gave Alfred a sardonic look as the American thumbed through his contacts before shoving the device in his face. "See! Then he'd match you!"

Slowly Arthur read over his contact name in Alfred's phone. "King Arthur," he mumbled slowly, his brows furrowing. "That's preposterous! How long have you had it like that?"

"Hmm, I dunno a year or so? Why?"

The Englishman crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "Change it," he demanded. "It's absolutely ridiculous!"

Alfred pouted. "Aw, c'mon Arthur! It's just a name!"

There was a long moment of Arthur simply staring at Alfred in contemplation. Finally, "Change it, and I'll name the bleeding cat Excalibur."

Seeing no other option – because he knew Arthur was a stubborn sunnava-bitch when he wanted to be, he quickly changed Arthur's contact name to 'Arthur', showed it to the Englishman and sighed. "Happy now?" he asked, still pouting.

Arthur smiled lazily. "Yes." He picked up the kitten from Alfred's lap and brought him up to eye level. "Hello Excalibur, guess who's going to visit the vet tomorrow? Alfred normally is a pretty spot on guess, but unfortunately that's not the case."

"Hey! You're so mean, Arthur," Alfred whined, sitting up on the couch and pulling Arthur down to sit next to him. "The least you could do is be nice to me on my last day here."

Arthur sighed. "Don't remind me of that," he said quietly, allowing the tabby to curl up in his lap with a purring exhalation. "By the by, are you going to take that cough medicine I bought you?"

"Oh yeah." Alfred got up, grabbing the bag and went off into the kitchen for a glass of water. When he'd finished swallowing the cough suppressant, he flopped back down onto the couch next to Arthur, throwing his arms around his English friend's shoulders and burying his face into the crook of Arthur's neck on a whim. "I'm going to miss you _so _much!" he exclaimed into Arthur's skin.

The Englishman froze and Excalibur jumped from his lap. "Alfred what do you think you're _doing_?" he hissed, squirming inside the American's strong embrace. "Are you mad?"

Alfred leaned away just enough to be able to catch Arthur's eyes. "No, why? Am I not allowed to hug you anymore?"

Arthur frowned. "Well… I never said… It's just that…" He huffed. "Why are you so incessant on touching me?" he asked finally.

"I dunno," Alfred responded with a shrug. "I just wanna hug you all the time – well, not _all _the time, but you know what I mean. And you're warm and you're nice to me – even when you're in a bad mood. I dunno what else to say, or how to explain it, Arthur. I don't want to leave your side. At all; even though I know I gotta."

Arthur remained silent as Alfred pondered his own words – he always did that; he said exactly how he felt before he even realized he felt that way. With unsure, shaking movements, Arthur pressed the tips of his fingers to Alfred's cheek, as if he were simply testing the temperature of the flesh. "Alfred, dear boy, how… how do you feel about homosexuality?"

"I thought I already told'ja that. The good Lord for–"

"That's not what I meant," Arthur interrupted, his fingertips moving from Alfred's cheeks to his jaw line. "I meant how you _feel _about it?"

Alfred's smooth brow furrowed into confusion; his blue, blue eyes lost as they stared into Arthur's sharp green. "I don't… see what you're gettin' at," he murmured softly.

The air was thick with hesitation and uncertainty as Arthur's hands cautiously cupped Alfred's cheeks. With little doubt left in his mind, and with one action he would probably regret for the rest of his life, Arthur pushed forward and pressed his lips against Alfred's warm, slightly chapped lips.

Time seemed to stand still for the two men, but all too soon Arthur pulled away with a cough as his mind caught up to him. "Fuck," he cursed to himself, yanking himself from Alfred's embrace and standing to pace the length of the room. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Alfred, in an almost dazed trance, merely watched Arthur pace back and forth, running his fingers through his already unruly hair and pressing his hands down his face. "What the hell was I thinking? Nothing, that's what. Bloody fucking hell – not thinking one bit! And now he…" Arthur stopped on a dime, his eyes going wide before he glanced down at Alfred. "Shit. Alfred, I – I haven't an idea as to what I was doing. I understand that you'll want space, I'll leave shortly, but please do forgive me."

With that Arthur went to the door and pulled his heavy trench coat from the rack, shaking it out a little before pulling it around himself.

"W-wait!" Alfred blustered once he realized what exactly was going on. He hopped over the back of the couch and nearly tackled Arthur to the ground in his hurry. "Don't go!" he blustered, his fists winding into the fabric of Arthur's coat. "Don't… don't leave me…"

Arthur's breath seemed to catch in his throat as he watched Alfred's desperate face. "Alfred…?"

"Just don't go. Please. I… I don't care. I just want… you. Right here. That's all. Okay?" He frowned; worrying on the inside of his cheek at Arthur's stunned silence. "I mean… if you want… want to be _more_… than best friends – uhm… please make me stop talking, Arthur, I feel stupid because you're not saying anything!"

The Englishman blinked dumbly at the accusation before that wide, closed-mouthed grin spread across his face. "Alfred, my dear, silly boy. I enjoy listening to you talk – you say the most interesting things." Alfred relaxed at that, his fingers losing their grip on Arthur's coat as Arthur cupped his face once again. "Would you be against being… how did you put it? _More_? It won't be an easy task, but…"

"We could do it, Arthur," Alfred said in a tiny voice, a little blush forming on the apples of his cheeks at the suggestion. "We could, yanno… But… you're gunna haveta wait for me. I'm not… very… you know…"

"Don't fret over that. It means nothing." He smiled, dropping his hand from Alfred's face to twine his fingers into Alfred's. "And since you're all cleaned up, and you do look dashing, if I do say so myself, how about we go out to eat? My treat."

Slowly Alfred's normal, bright and fearless grin returned to his sun loved face. "Alright, I s'pose, since you asked all nicely and all." And even though things seemed to have been put right back in their place, Alfred couldn't keep his heart from fluttering with rapid beats, or the flush that he felt all over his body, or the fact that he missed the warmth that Arthur's hand brought him once they were outside and Arthur dropped his hand in favor of holding the umbrella.

It was the same, but it was different, and Alfred didn't think it was all that bad, either.

* * *

><p>The airport was swarming with people, loud speakers rattled off information over and over and the hum of hundreds of voices filled the air about them. They had arrived an hour or two before Alfred needed to go through security, just so that they could walk around the shops and spend their last moments together. The time of reckoning was drawing nearer and nearer far too fast for the American's liking. His stomach dropped like a cold stone every time he glanced at the clock.<p>

"I don't want to leave," he half whined, half cried. "Arthur, please say I don't have to go."

The Englishman sighed sadly, squeezing Alfred's hand reassuringly under the table they sat at. With his other hand, Alfred poked at his half eaten McDonald's burger – he really didn't feel hungry at _all_. "You know I can't do that," Arthur replied softly, looking off into a crowd of people. "As dearly as I want to."

"Yeah I know," he mumbled, dejected. "Why do you gotta be the reasonable one?"

Arthur snorted in amusement, the pad of his thumb rubbing Alfred's knuckles back and forth, sweet and sorrowful. "Are you going to finish that?" When Alfred only shook his head and professed that his stomach was in knots, Arthur nodded. "Then I suppose it's about that time."

Alfred's stomach clenched, and his whole face felt cold – as if he were about to throw up at the mere mention of getting on the plane. But Arthur stood up and unwound his fingers from Alfred's, pulling Alfred's rolling suitcase towards the security line with the American in tow.

For a couple minutes they simply stared at the fluxing security lines, standing side by side. And even though they hadn't done anything other than that small, first kiss, Alfred felt he should do something right now. When would he even see Arthur again? He didn't want to think about it. Just as he was about to say something, Arthur pulled him into a warm hug, tucking his chin onto Alfred's shoulder.

"I'll miss you, my dear, dear poppet," Arthur croaked into the thick fabric of Alfred's leather jacket.

Alfred nodded, patting Arthur on the back a few times. "And I'll miss ya somethin' fierce, Arthur."

Slowly they broke apart and Arthur stepped back with downcast eyes. "Goodbye." The word was short; choked. Alfred couldn't bring himself to respond. Almost as if in slow motion Arthur turned away, glancing over his shoulder with bright, watery eyes before losing himself in the crowds of people.

Alfred hupped slightly, attempting to repress a strangled sob and turned into a shifting line, pulling his wallet and passport from his back pocket as he went.

He felt as if he'd been broken in half, torn and shredded. And as he stepped through to the terminals, he realized that he'd left half of himself in Arthur's gentle hands.

- End Chapter Six -

* * *

><p>Hello~! Sorry this update took longer than normal (omfg a whole week? D:)! Hopefully the heartbreaking cutesy-cutesy of this chapter makes up for it. ^-^<p>

I passed that Math Test I was so worried about. :D Not bad for not going to any of the classes… /cough.

And as always, thank you to the wonderful **Lucia-luce** for betaing and to everyone for their support of this fic! You guys are absolutely fantabulous. n.n


	8. Chapter Seven: Behind

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Seven: Behind_

_Important Notes_: John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium

* * *

><p><strong>[Me]<strong>

**I miss you already. In Chicago rite now waiting for my transfer plane. I really miss you! ! :(**

**[Message sent 4:04 AM]**

**[Arthur]**

**I miss you as well. Safe travels.**

**[Message received 4:07 AM]**

* * *

><p>When Alfred returned to Nebraska, he felt heavy and indescribably blank. The swirled carpet beneath his feet blended into one bland color as he trudged up through the security gates and out of the terminals towards the baggage claims. Matthew was waiting for him at the end of the short incline of the hallway, smiling cheerfully and waving when he spotted Alfred in the small crowd of people that had exited with him.<p>

"Welcome back!" Matthew greeted, pulling Alfred into a tight hug and Alfred melted into the embrace – wishing it was someone else in his arms instead. "Your dad couldn't come – he had an appointment with one of the guys that buys the cows, so Gilbert came with me instead."

Alfred frowned momentarily, looking over his cousin's shoulder to see his teacher, Gilbert Beilschmidt standing off to the side, his hands on his hips and his normal sneered smile on his lips. It had taken Alfred a year or two of knowing the man to realize that that was his normal smile. "Hey," Alfred said in simple greeting.

Gilbert's sneer-smile widened. "Hey yourself. Where's my postcard?" he asked with a friendly jeer.

"I have one… somewhere… Hey, can we stop by a McDonalds on the way home? I think my stomach's tryin' to eat itself."

Matthew's smile fell slightly at Alfred's dull tone and he pulled out of the hug slightly to look his younger cousin square in the face. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked in a tiny voice, as if they few people that stood around nearby were attempting to eavesdrop on a secret conversation.

Alfred hesitated before he nodded, his blue eyes flashing to Gilbert and back. "I'm just tired… _really _tired. And starving." He put on one of his most convincing smiles. "So, about that stop to McDonalds?"

"Alright, alright," Gilbert said, rolling his eyes at the two. "Let's get your baggage before they decide to keep it. The car ride should be long enough for your sappy reunion." The cousins nodded in silent agreement and followed Gilbert down the slow paced escalator to the baggage carousals.

Gathering Alfred's luggage and finding their way through the airport's parking garage was a silent affair. It was just past seven o'clock and the world about them was hushed gray with the coming of rain. Alfred sprawled out across the backseat of the truck, winding the middle seatbelt around his hips and he pulled out his pillow from his overstuffed backpack that he had used to sleep on the plane – to no avail.

Matthew and Gilbert were talking together quietly, occasionally tossing a question or two at Alfred, who merely mumbled unintelligibly and nuzzled into his pillow. Mr. Beilschmidt was a rather good friend of the family and would occasionally come over to the ranch and help Alfred with maintenance issues such as leaky roofs and new fences; and despite his rather off-putting attitude, he was easy to get along with. Alfred pulled out his phone when Matthew and Gilbert began talking about world politics (like Alfred cared), and shuffled through his contacts with bleary eyes.

In his mind he continuously replayed those final moments with Arthur. Despite his strong front, he was almost positive that Arthur had been crying when he left – or at least trying not to. And somehow that thought made him feel both better and worse at the same time.

**[Me]**

**I miss you so fucking much! I wish I woulda ran out of that line and went bk to you. I love my hme, but I dn't wanna b newhere ur not. :( :( :(**

**[Message sent 8:00 AM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Romantic fool. You know as well as I that you cannot stay here. You have a family to return to, and that horse of yours probably misses you. As I miss you.**

**[Message received 8:05 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Hey dnt counter my feelings with ur logic! Im 2 sleepy to argue but i cant sleep. D:**

**[Message sent 8:06 AM]**

**[Arthur]**

**You slept well enough on the bus. Shall I sing you a lullaby?**

**[Message received 8:09 AM]**

**[Me]**

**That would b FANTASTIC. :D**

**[Message sent 8:10 AM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Go to sleep, you twit.**

**[Message received 8:13 AM]**

Alfred paused as he read the text, a sleepy grin on his face and he pressed his nose further into the cotton fluff of his pillow. His fingers hovered over the slide out keyboard of his phone before he simply decided to hell with it, and began typing.

**[Me]**

**I love ya too, Arthur**

**[Message sent 8:15 AM]**

* * *

><p>Matthew glanced into the rear-view mirror for probably the hundredth time since they left the airport, noting that Alfred had finally fallen asleep, his face buried in his pillow and his legs curled up in what looked like a rather awkward position to sleep in. Gilbert mumbled something heatedly under his breath to Matthew's comment about, "If Prussians still even existed, they don't have much of an identity anyway – they're pretty much Germans."<p>

"The kid looked really out of it," Gilbert said after a long silence of listening to the static of the radio and Alfred's soft snores. "London must've been fucking awesome."

Matthew frowned. "I don't know. He never mentioned anything about London to me – except that it wouldn't stop raining. It was mostly Arthur this, Arthur that. I swear, if they were school kids, they'd be those ones that are always attached by the hip."

Gilbert chuckled to himself, watching the suburban areas quickly sprout back into fields of lush green crops. In a place like this, blink and you'll miss civilization. "I know how the kid feels." A sense of nostalgia passed over him, and Matthew sent Gilbert a curious look. "What?" he snipped. "Even people as awesome as me have feelings too!"

A bitter grin found its way onto Matthew's mouth. "I never said otherwise." He pulled off the long, straight highway (the kind that was so straight that it disappeared into the deep horizon), and up an exit ramp that boasted a nearby McDonalds. "Actually," he started as he pulled into the short line of the drive-thru, "I'm pretty sure you're talking about Elizaveta."

There was an acidic silence in the car as Matthew pulled up to the ordering speakers. "Hi, can I have one Big Mac, no mayo? That's all, thanks."

"That was a low blow," Gilbert grumbled after Matthew paid for the burger and set the rolled up bag on the dash for later.

Matthew only shrugged. "I was just telling the truth. You should know me by now."

Gilbert grunted. "Yeah, fly under the radar and then strike when no one's paying attention. Totally unawesome, Matt. The epitome of unawesome!"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence in the cab of the truck as Matthew pulled back onto the long highway. He sighed. In three more days he'd have to make this trip all over again. Driving four hours to the airport wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. "She hasn't written me in a couple months," Gilbert mumbled after a long forty five minutes – the wind whistled between the opened windows. "Sometimes I just wonder if she remembers me. As awesome as I am, and all – it'd be pretty damn hard to forget! But still... I wonder sometimes."

"Maybe her letters are stuck in the post somewhere," he suggested, and wished for about the hundredth time that day, that the old yellow truck had cruise control. "Don't you have her email or anything?"

"Yeah, but..." the teacher sighed heavily, staring petulantly out the window. "Email isn't the same. How do I know it's her? It could be anyone behind that computer typing: 'Oh Gilbert I love you – soon I'll have enough money to come to America!' Fucking anyone."

They both had to stifle laughs as Alfred emitted a particularly loud snore, despite their serious conversation. Matthew sighed. "I think you're worrying over nothing – have some faith in her." He grabbed the bag from the dash and handed it to Gilbert before the other could protest. "So, I bet five bucks that if you hold that burger under Alfred's nose, he'll wake up."

Gilbert glanced from the bag to Alfred and back, a sharp grin forming on his face. "You're on, syrup-sucker."

* * *

><p>Alfred had adjusted to his usual lifestyle easily after returning home and Matthew had mysteriously become five dollars richer, often shoving the wrinkled bill in Alfred's face and laughing out a 'thank you'. Alfred had slept through most of his first day, showered, ate, recounted stories and adventures he'd had in the rainy city, went back to sleep and was up at five to help his Pa with the morning chores – almost as if he'd never been gone in the first place. He felt a little run down and his face seemed to always fall, but he figured if he worked hard, he could get passed the crushing feeling that seemed to course through his very veins.<p>

Matthew sat on the dryer while Alfred sat on the laundry machine the day before Matthew's flight back to Canada. They kicked their legs like children, the backs of the socked feet tapping softly against the white metal. The only sound that reached their ears was the light cadence of their feet and the hum of laundry being washed.

"You've been quiet ever since you came back from London," Matthew said after a long silence – simply listening.

Alfred nodded. "I s'pose so. I think I got used to Arthur. He liked the quiet, and it was never the uncomfortable kind. That... or maybe I'm just too tired ta make much noise."

They sat like that for a while longer, the sound of the upstairs door opening and closing as Alfred's Pa came inside after finishing rounding up the herd for the night. "There's something you're not telling me," Matthew decided to say. He'd been thinking about it for the past two days; the dimmed smiles, forced laughter over dinner, the long hours spent taking Nova out on the trails – something wasn't adding up and Matthew wasn't the type of person to leave things unfinished.

Alfred glanced over at his cousin. "Maybe. But I'm pretty sure you wouldn't like ta hear what I gotta say, so I'm just gunna keep my mouth shut."

"Honestly, Al, you should know that I don't care about this kind of stuff. I'm just here to help – and I'm not going to judge you just because you think London is way better than Nebraska."

The young American considered his cousin's words for a moment, biting his lip and hunching forward. His feet ceased their steady rhythm. "That's not it." He leaned backwards and glared up at the yellowing light of the mudroom. "What if I told ya I found someone – you know, like _someone_?"

"I'd say good on you," Matthew replied quickly. Alfred gave him a meaningful glance with tempered blue eyes and suddenly things began to make sense to the Canadian – like pieces of a complex puzzle falling into place. "It's Arthur, isn't it?" he almost breathed, his voice soft and in awe. "You... and Arthur? Alfred, how – how's that even going to work?" His dark eyes darted to the staircase and he dropped his voice even further, "What about your dad... or the church? I mean, I don't care but... Al..."

Alfred's chin dropped to his chest. "I dunno Matt, I really dunno. But there's no way I could say no to Arthur, Matt – or... I miss him so much I feel like my chest is going to cave in or something. I just want to go to sleep and wake up when I get to see him next. And I know it sounds real dumb, but that's the truth."

Matthew sighed, long and hard. His face was a mask of pity and empathy as he hopped off the dryer and stumbled into the next room where his bags sat, stuffed and packed with month's worth of clothes and personal affections. Alfred sat in apprehensive silence as he heard the sounds of zippers pulling apart and the rustle of fabric. Finally Matthew re-entered the mudroom, a small ball-shaped item with a thin cord attached in his hand. "Well, if that's the case, you should have this," he muttered, handing the item to Alfred.

"What is it?"

Matthew shrugged. "Eh... A webcam. I uhm... use it every once and a while... but I don't need it anymore now that I'm heading back home." Alfred looked at the device in his hands, his eyes lighting up slightly in thought. "And uh... you can always use that mic you used back when you played WoW all the time. And well... you know how to use Skype, right?"

"Matt..." His breath caught in his throat and Alfred grinned, hopping off the washing machine to embrace his cousin. "Thank you! Thank you so much! And I mean it. You have no idea how much it means to me – that... that you didn't... you know, try and kill me or something for..."

"Don't mention it," Matthew said easily, patting Alfred reassuringly between his shoulder blades before pushing him away slightly. "Just do me a favor, will ya?" Alfred nodded hesitantly at Matthew's suddenly serious tone. "Whatever it is you two have… just… Don't let him force you into _anything_. Okay? You two made great friends – and maybe you might want to keep it that way." He held up a quick hand when Alfred began to protest, shaking his head. "It was just a suggestion, Al. I'm not saying to do anything. But if things get bad… I'm just saying… You can always call me, you know."

Alfred smiled lightly, glancing down at the webcam in his hands happily. "I'm really goin' to miss you, Matt. Who else is gunna do the dishes?"

Matthew snorted, punching Alfred's shoulder. "Oh, I'm sure one of these days you'll figure it out – once you manage to get off your duff, that is."

They grinned at each other with a mutual sense of understanding, and for the first time since leaving London, Alfred felt that maybe things would be alright.

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

**[Alfred]**

**Matt's gone. :(**

**[Message received 2:33 PM]**

Arthur glanced at the text from the inside of his pocket, tapping the space bar on his computer a few times to feign the sounds of work. It hadn't even been a week since he saw the young American last, and yet it felt like an eternity. What did his hand feel like in his own? What did his voice sound like again? Why couldn't he sleep without the other side of the bed dipping down under Alfred's weight?

With a sigh he pulled his hand from his pocket and began deleting the unnecessary spaces from his financial report. He couldn't think of much else to say besides 'I'm sorry', and that was no comfort to anyone. Either way, he had a job he had to do and an hour to finish. And so with that thought in mind, he focused back on his work with a single-minded determination that came with the desperate.

When he returned home, his flat seemed empty without Alfred there to take up space. Excalibur sat on the sill of the window, his orange, ringed tail flicking and curling back and forth as he stared outside. What the cat was always staring at, Arthur couldn't guess, but when he made his presence known by tossing his jangling keys onto the wooden table, Excalibur brightened, mewling happily and hopping off the ledge to greet the gruff Briton by rubbing against his legs.

"Hello to you as well, 'Bur," Arthur said, reaching down to scratch the feline under his new blue collar. As he promised, he'd taken the young kitten to the veterinarian, had his shots updated and even went as far as to have him micro-chipped as well. Both Tino and Alfred had been ecstatic at that.

Lazily he set a pot of water to boil, wandering into his bedroom to boot up his computer while he waited. He had received a new email from Alfred while at work, but he hadn't opened it, for fear that his boss would peer into his cubicle at any moment. Apparently the past week hadn't been the most productive.

He brought his computer into the kitchen, setting it on the table and shooing Excalibur off of it. After he'd made himself a hot cup of tea, he sat down and opened his email with a hint of a smile playing at his pale lips.

**From: Alfred F. Jones (all . american . guy a cox . net);**

**Hey Arthur! I have so much I want to say right now that I can't figure myself out. :T**

**I guess I'll start with the first things. 1) I MISS YOU SO DAMN MUCH! D: 2) When do I get to see you next? :( 3) Do you have Skype? Matt gave me a webcam… and well… I was hoping… you know. I just want to see your face again, and fuck that sounds so sappy but I'm not going to delete it 'coz it's TRUE! And yeah… please? **

**Alfred**

**P.S. Nova says hi! She really missed getting scratches from you. :P**

Arthur smiled. "That silly boy," he said, looking at Excalibur because he was determined to not talk to himself. The kitten simply meowed as he tended to do in response to noises. Arthur thought it was odd, but amusing all the same.

**To: Alfred F. Jones (all . american . guy a cox . net);**

**In response to your questions:**

**1) I miss you as well, more so than I'd like to admit.**

**2) I haven't a clue. Should I perhaps visit you in America? It would take a long while for either of us to gather the funds, unfortunately.**

**3) Alas, I do not have Skype, but I'm sure I can download it. My laptop has a built in webcam and mic, so I suppose it all works out. Perhaps we should set up a time to use it? Saturday or Sunday night (for me) – when you're not as busy on the ranch? **

**Also, you spoil that horse rotten. You probably love her more than me.**

**For future reference, that was a joke. **

**Arthur**

Arthur sent the email with a long sip of his tea, opening a new tab in his window and beginning his search for a download link for Skype. The things he did for Alfred – he rolled his eyes.

After a few minutes of surfing the web, downloading a viable Skype client, and checking his email, he deemed that Alfred was most likely busy at the ranch – or simply away from the computer – and closed the top of his computer for later just as his phone began to ring shrilly in the next room. With a gruff sigh he stood from his chair, shooing away an all too curious Excalibur and made his way towards his phone.

"Hello," he answered crisply, pressing the receiver of his corded, and outdated, phone to his ear.

There was a warm silence from the other end and Arthur considered hanging up before a familiar voice mumbled into his ear. _"'Allo… I – lookin' fer my brother… I seemta – I think I lost him? Arthur's… the lad's name. Lost 'im… and Ol'ver too… lo-osin' 'em all…"_

Arthur frowned into the phone. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, whispering feverishly, glancing at his kitchen wall that was all that separated him from Tino and Berwald's apartment. His neighbor was already leery of him – he needn't make matters worse.

"_I…erm… wrong n-number again, eh? Fucking… maybe ya should change your bloody number! … Th-then maybe I'd… stop a'callin'…"_

"John," Arthur all but groaned with impatience, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Honestly, remember what I told you about belling me? _I'm_ Arthur – I'm not lost, and right now I've nothing to do with your drunken misfortune. Understand?"

A long pause ensued at Arthur's stinging words, and he almost wished he could take them back. But instead he held his ground and waited. John needed to learn that he couldn't simply ring him whenever he drank too much – he was tired of the drunken abuse. Soon his resolved crumbled when he heard the unmistakable noise of wet, sloppy hiccups and he felt his shoulders drop in defeat. "Don't cry," he murmured softly, "Look, I'm sorry – I didn't really mean most of that… I'll… I'll be on my way over soon."

With a heavy grimace he said his farewells and hung up. He spared a few minutes to pour Excalibur a small meal and to stuff himself into his overcoat as he gave a wistful glance at his shut laptop resting on the kitchen table. In a way he felt he was shirking out on time he could be spending emailing Alfred – or waiting for the young American to get on his computer so they could test out the Skype system. He would be lying if he said he didn't want to see Alfred, even if it was just over the computer screen.

And somehow he felt he was doing himself a disservice by leaving, but he shrugged the feeling away as he stumbled out his door and towards the lift to begrudgingly tend to his alcoholic brother.

* * *

><p>- <span>In the Midwest<span> -

Alfred lay back onto his spread sleeping bag with an exaggerated sigh, pulling a handful of thick green grass from the ground and tossing it to the side. It had been a few weeks since he'd returned, and he'd quickly come to find that it was easier to sleep outside in a sleeping bag than it was to try and fall asleep in a painfully empty bed.

"Hey, Nova girl," he called out; glancing over to where he knew the Thoroughbred mare was tied lowly to a sturdy tree. Her tack had been removed and Alfred had taken his time to brush off the accumulated sweat and dirt from her haunches. The first thing she had done was roll on the ground. "Ain't it pretty out tonight?"

As if to answer, Nova snorted into the dirt, her velvety black lips nickering until she found a pleasing patch of grass to nibble on. Alfred smiled to himself, turning his gaze back upwards. The tall, robust trees parted into a small clearing not too far from the trail that he liked to use. Bright stars speckled the darkening sky, going from a jeweled purple to a creeping blackness that came with country nights and a lack of light pollution.

It was a serene picture and it comforted him as he stretched out in his sleeping bag. This was something he wanted to share with Arthur, he decided with a firm nod of his head. In London he didn't remember being able to see the stars well, and just the thought of being able to share something of his with Arthur – a moment, a place – it made him feel unbelievably happy and anxious for the moment when he actually could.

Instead of sleeping, like he knew he really should be, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, squinting at the stunningly bright light it produced.

**[Me]**

**Hey Arthur Im sleepin outside again. I wish u were here to see these stars. The moon is only a lil sliver so the sky is dark and its real pretty. I really reall**

**[Message sent 9:45 PM]**

**[Me]**

**y miss you. I know its been a bit over a month but I swear everytime we use Skype or something, I miss you more. :( U need to cme here ASAP before I die or some**

**[Message sent 9:47 PM]**

**[Me]**

**thing. I still havent managed to tell Pa… I dont know what hell do… How am I supposed to make an Alfred F. Jones IV if im with u? I dunnooo! And now ur gunna ge**

**[Message sent 9:51 PM]**

**[Me]**

**t this crzy long message when u wake up or whatever and ull think im crazy. I dunno… do u think I should talk to sum1 about this? Matt helped… but… he's matt a**

**[Message sent 9:54 PM]**

**[Me]**

**nd hes supposed 2 agree with everything I say… well not rly, but hes family. You know? Im talkin in circles now… sorry. :( I um… I love you.**

**[Message sent 9:58 PM]**

Alfred sighed as he watched the last message send, biting his lip a little. He had only recently begun telling Arthur that he loved him – and not in the friendly, brotherly way he normally did. And it still felt warm and awkward to do so. His breathing would stop momentarily, and he'd break into a nervous chill (what if Arthur didn't like that he said that? Was it too soon?). But he was always soothed over when Arthur responded with an, "I love you too." As long as the feeling was mutual, he told himself, then there was no reason to be afraid.

"Nova do you think I'm doing the right thing?" he asked his horse, slightly put off when she simply ignored him, her head drooping slightly in sleep. He watched as she pulled up one of her back legs and rested the hoof on its toe. "That's not fair, you mule – you can't sleep before me!" Alfred huffed and rolled over. Not like she would have given him the sensible response that he was looking for.

He continuously tapped the scroll down button on his phone as he went through his contacts for someone he thought that he could ask about his… situation. He thought about asking Mr. Carriedo, but he couldn't imagine his old teacher to be serious with him about it – nothing other than a simple, "It'll work out over time! You have to put lots of love into the relationship for it to work!" And Alfred could plainly imagine him comparing his relationship with Arthur to a tomato plant.

Alfred sighed softly, a small frown tugging on his lips until he came across one name in particular and he paused. Could he talk to him? It would be ideal – but there was always that chance. He didn't want to be condemned a sinner. "Aw hell," he grumbled to himself, his tumultuous thoughts getting the better of him and his worn mind. "Love can't be a sin, can it?" Nothing but the distant hoot of an owl answered his question and Alfred groaned. It was now or never, he supposed.

**[Me]**

**I know it's late, Father Feli, but are you busy tomorrow? I really need to have a talk with you. It's kinda important.**

**[Message sent 10:24 PM]**

**[Father Feliciano]**

**It's okay! Why don't you come over to my house tomorrow and we can talk over lunch!**

**[Message received 10:30 PM]**

Alfred smiled softly and sent his thank you response. Even though he hadn't said anything or revealed his secret (because that's what it was really beginning to feel like), he already felt better just knowing that he was finally going to confess. He didn't like having secrets and he didn't like lying to people he cared about – at least, not on this scale.

He tucked himself back into his sleeping bag comfortably, clutching his phone in his hand as he did so. Just as he was about to set the device on the ground near his face, so he would hear his alarm clearly in the morning, it went off with a little familiar jingle that made his heart skip a beat in excitement.

**[Sir Arthur]**

**Just woke up, luv. You know the soonest I can visit is March. You know you can talk to me of anything – I'm not much help… And I love you too, poppet.**

**[Message received 10:38 PM]**

With a large grin plastered on his face, Alfred tucked the phone against his chest as if it were Arthur himself, and allowed his eyes to flutter closed with a tired sleep.

As long as Arthur loved him too, then he felt that there was nothing in the world to be afraid of.

- End Chapter Seven -

* * *

><p>Aw, so late! D: I wanted to update this before Skyrim came out but, erm… that didn't turn out… xD [Gamer]<p>

Anyway, shorter chapter than normal – blah. The next one should be longer, but more compiled. ^.^; Thank you everyone for your input~. If you see any mistakes (or have a suggestion at all, really, I like those haha), give me a holler. :D

As always thank you to **Lucia-luce **for beta-ing! :)

I want a cheeseburger now. :P


	9. Chapter Eight: Distant

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Eight: Distant_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium

* * *

><p>Alfred drove up the winding driveway slowly, listening to the rocks crunch beneath the trucks tires as he went. Father Feliciano lived in a small, cottage home with an interesting statue collection that sat in his vegetable garden. From what Alfred understood, Feliciano and Lovino came from Europe after some kind of falling out (with whom Alfred could only guess), and Antonio – after a few years, followed Lovino. At first Alfred had found that crazy, if not a bit ludicrous, but now he felt he understood the decision. And honestly he couldn't blame his teacher at all.<p>

He checked the time on his phone after he pulled into the driveway, killing the truck's engine with a flick of his wrist. He was almost there. Is all he had to do was walk into the house, sit down, and muster up his courage to finally spill what's been sitting on his heart for the past month. With a defeated sigh, Alfred undid his seatbelt and pulled himself from his truck to knock on Feliciano's door.

A little stone angel with gentle curves and a cherubic face caught his attention as he waited for his pastor to answer the door. For some reason the angel's face reminded him a bit of Arthur, with full lips, a rounded chin and a peaked nose that gave off an air of sweet authority. He smiled and flicked one of the statue's wings to remind himself that it was just that – a statue.

Suddenly the door opened up with a jangling of bells – ones that were probably left over from Christmas; maybe. It was hard to tell with Father Feliciano. "_Ciao, ciao_, Alfred! It's good to see you have made it! Please, come in! I just took the pasta off the stove!"

Awkwardly Alfred did as he was told and followed the bubbly Italian man into the cozy little home; the air was heavy with steam and the scent of basil and tomatoes. Feliciano ushered Alfred into a wooden chair at a round table neatly decorated for two. "This is real nice of you Father…" Alfred mumbled, wiping the palms of his hands on the knees of his jeans.

"Please, call me Feli! Or Feliciano, whichever." The brunet smiled widely, his bright brown eyes squinting under the force of his happiness. Alfred found himself wishing he could be that happy as Feliciano filled their plates with warm, spindly pasta and drizzled it with an oozing, creamy sauce. "Now, you mentioned that you wished to speak with me?" he asked as he sat down across the table from Alfred. His voice was soft and sweet, lightly accented in the way that his words seemed to have their own uplifting cadence as he spoke.

Alfred nodded heavily, poking at the food before him with his fork. His stomach clenched within his gut in nervousness. "Uhm, yeah. It's… important… but I uhm – I don't know how ta go about it…"

Feliciano nodded in understanding, folding his hands below his chin as he waited for Alfred to find the right words. "Well, you see… I just… uhm…" Alfred slumped forward, staring hard into his plate of pasta. Suddenly he just blurted. "I think I'm gay. No, wait. I _am _gay. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

There was a long, pregnant silence where only the ticking of an old clock and the clicking of Feliciano's electric stove could be heard. "I don't think I quite understand the question, Alfred," Feliciano said after a long moment, rubbing at his chin with a thoughtful face. "Maybe you should start at the beginning?"

"The beginning…?" he repeated cautiously. He had half expected the pastor to kick him out of the house as soon as he'd said that he was gay (at least, he was pretty sure he was), and now he was a bit at a loss for words. "Uhm… How far do you want me to go back? I dunno… Eleven years ago I wrote a letter to a boy in England. One month ago I went to England to see that same boy – and I… We… Uh…"

Feliciano smiled. "You fell in love, yes?" he asked serenely. When Alfred nodded sheepishly, the apples of his cheeks dusted with a nervous blush, the pastor sighed airily. "How sweet. It's like a fairytale!" At that, he picked up his fork and began twirling noodles around, eating happily.

"You mean… you're not – not going to condemn me or anything?" he asked, unsure if this was really happening. A part of him told him that it should be more difficult than this – that he needed an excuse to give up altogether, simply because it was already getting too difficult.

"Do you want me to?" Feliciano asked seriously, setting down his fork with a distinct clinking noise. "I can sit here and preach to you of all the wrongs in this world, Alfred, but let me share a secret with you: I don't believe there is anything wrong when it comes to the heart – and I believe God understands this. There are many paths to take in this world, and if you walk whatever path you so choose, trusting in the Lord, then the only place that path will end up is to the Lord himself."

Alfred bit his lip. "So… it's not wrong to tell Arthur I love him?"

For a moment Feliciano seemed to regard the question, tapping his fork against the off-white tablecloth quietly. "And do you? Do you love him?"

Did he love Arthur? That was an odd question. He liked the way Arthur worried over him, or the way Arthur would subtly (or not so subtly) correct his grammar or spelling; how Arthur encouraged him to do the best he could, the way Arthur would smile wide and contentedly; his soft gentle touches, as if he was afraid Alfred would shatter at any moment... Alfred nodded sharply. "I do love him, more than I can say – only 'coz I just don't have the right words to tell you."

Feliciano smiled hugely. "And that's all that matters! Because what is this world without love? The Lord loves all, yes? Then why don't we share our love as well?" He tapped his cheek with his fork as if in thought. "But there is something more, is there not?"

"I uhm… yeah. My Pa… I don't think… you know…" Alfred hung his head in shame and Feliciano sighed with sympathy.

"I understand." He set his fork down and gazed at his partially eaten pasta with half-lidded eyes. "I'm going to tell you a story, and what you take from it is up to you, okay?" Feliciano waited until Alfred nodded slowly, his blue eyes focused on the Italian man's face. "Almost twenty years ago, _mio dio, _such a long time ago, I lived in Rome with my brother Lovino. It was a difficult time for us – you see, Lovino was going to go to America to study medicine in a year and I was but a missionary working back and forth between churches." Feliciano sighed wistfully, as if thinking of something sweet but long gone. "But it was during that turbulent summer I had my heart stolen away. He was tall, and clean cut, German, and _unobtainable._"

Alfred frowned. "What do you mean, 'unobtainable'?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as Feliciano chuckled lightly under his breath.

"He was engaged to be married that following year, and well… you can imagine how I felt. The one thing I wanted was taken." He sighed. "But that made him all the more alluring, I believe. What we had, Alfred, was magic – it was the Lord's grace shining on us. Everything was like electricity from lips to fingers…"

"Uhm… too much detail?" Alfred coughed awkwardly.

Feliciano blinked, his dusty eyes hazy as if waking from a dream, and then laughed. "Sorry, I lost myself. Needless to say, what he had could not last. He was on an extended vacation and he had to return home – to Germany; to his fiancée. I stood with him in the airport and I didn't say a word as he left to board his plane. Not a single "I love you", or "Please don't leave". I should have. I still wish I had. But he was gone and I was heartbroken. So I came with Lovino to America to start new – and here I am, with you, sharing a cooling meal."

"Why… why didn't you say anything to him?" Alfred ventured to ask after a long, thoughtful silence.

The Italian shrugged. "At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do." He picked up his fork once more. "I didn't follow my heart – as I should have, and that is the one thing in life I regret the most. But, the Lord put me here to help others, yes? To help people like Alfred Jones Jr. – to make sure they don't make the same mistakes I did when I was young."

Thoughtful and somewhat upset with this new knowledge, Alfred pushed around the noodles on his plate, taking a couple of tasteless bites before asking, "This guy… Maybe… you should get back into contact with him? See how he is – or… if he remembers you. You know?"

Feliciano seemed surprised by the suggestion, his eyes growing wide before he settled on a pleasant smile. "Oh, but it's been such a long time. I doubt he remembers me. And besides, by now he's married and must have children – I bet one or two would be married now themselves, and… I don't think it would be a good idea."

"Well, I think you should," Alfred said sternly. He smiled warmly at his pastor. "Is all you gotta do is pick up a pen and write. You'd be real surprised at what happens when you do."

They finished their cool meal in a furtive quiet as Feliciano seemed to think the idea over. Alfred left soon after with thanks for the advice and left, quickly tapping on the buttons of his phone as he drove down the dusty road towards his house.

**[Me]**

**Hey r u hme? Cn u gt on skype?**

**[Message sent 1:13PM]**

**[Sir Arthur]**

**What have I told you about driving and texting! You'll kill yourself! And yes I am, and I can. You're lucky I haven't much of a life.**

**[Message received 1:17 PM]**

**[Me]**

**Awsme! Ill b hme in bout 20. Ill c u online n i wnt kill no1.**

**[Message sent 1:21PM]**

Alfred pocketed his phone with an anxious smile and cranked up the radio as he finished up his drive home.

When he got home, his Pa was out mucking the stables – declared he didn't need help (but he would tomorrow when they had to muck out the feed barn), and Alfred bolted back inside the house and nearly tumbled down the stairs in his rush.

**[Me]**

**I'm home. Booting up the comp now.**

**[Message sent 1:54 PM]**

He went through the routine motions as the computer loaded; fix his hair, sit down, clean his glasses, open Skype, put on headphones…

When the conversation finally started up, Alfred grinned widely as Arthur's image slowly poured into the screen, the colors contrasting and blurring until the feed sent properly. Arthur sat at his kitchen table, a cup of tea nestled perfectly in his hands. His collared shirt was unbuttoned just below his collarbones for comfort and he smiled wearily at Alfred. It was a scene that had become beautifully familiar to Alfred.

"_Hey,"_ he breathed into his microphone, unable to push down the dopey grin that pinched at the corners of his eyes.

Arthur took a sip of his tea, setting the cup down next to his computer. _"Hello to you as well. Is there something you wanted to tell me? You seemed in a rush earlier. Is everything alright?"_

He shifted a bit in his swiveling chair, wondering exactly how to say what was on his mind when his mouth suddenly blurted, _"I love you. I love you so goddamned much! And I guess I just really, really wanted to say that – to you." _ Alfred smiled awkwardly as Arthur began to visibly blush on screen, his slim fingers pulling at the collar of his shirt nervously. _"And I'm sorry… It's just… I talked to my pastor today – and well… He made me think; I wanna say everything that I want to you – 'coz… if I don't… then I might never get the chance. Yanno?"_

"_Alfred, you wonderful fool," _Arthur mumbled, proceeding to hide his face in his hands. Alfred was pleased to note that even Arthur's ears were beginning to redden. He watched as Arthur ran his hands along his face as the computer lagged, and he was suddenly holding his teacup again, resting his chin on the lip of the cup. _"I love you too, my sweet poppet. More than I dare say. But I'm assuming that your luncheon with your pastor went over well? He didn't drive a cross through your heart, as you were saying this morning?"_

Alfred grimaced. _"Okay… I might've been exaggerating a tiny bit. But no; he was actually really cool about it. And he promised to keep it a secret for me until I'm ready to break it to Pa."_

"_Alfred…"_

The American sighed heavily – this was a conversation they had all too often, with no ends in sight. _"I know, I know. I'll tell him, I _will_, I swear. But… just not now… not until I know it's okay."_

Arthur gave a distracted nod, shooing Excalibur off the tabletop when the kitten decided to jump up and join them. _"I understand. I've yet to tell Mother, however, I have hinted at it a few times now – I'm just waiting for her to ask is all. But… I'm glad you've told someone about us – I've a wonder how, but it seems to validate us, somehow."_

"_You're over-thinking things again," _Alfred responded cheekily, smiling when Arthur only scoffed at the suggestion.

Upstairs he heard the door swish open and the heavy steps of his Pa's boots traveling across the floor and towards the basement door. "Al? Ya down there? The Bobcat's down again – gunna need help loadin' the hay into the truck."

Alfred sighed, disappointed that his conversation was going to have to end so soon. He switched his headset to mute before shouting back up to his Pa that he'd be right out. _"Sorry Arthur," _he mumbled after switching his headset back, _"I've gotta help Pa finish laying out the hay in the stables. The Bobcat's malfunctioning again, we really oughta get a new one, so we gotta go back and do it all the hard way. But, before I go…" _He stole a quick glance at the staircase, _"I love ya, and goodnight!"_

Arthur smiled wryly in response. "_I love you too, Alfred. I'll wish you good morning in about nine hours."_

And suddenly everything was routine again. Alfred quickly shut down the computer once more before stuffing his feet back into his boots and running upstairs, stopping to grab a pair of wire cutters from the kitchen drawer before following his Pa outside.

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

*_October_*

Arthur stared hard at the text that scrawled across the screen of his mobile. The backlight went dim and he tapped the screen to brighten it once more. It was just another invitation to have drinks from Francis – not that it was anything out of the ordinary. But his hesitation stemmed from thought. Normally he would either delete the message, or he would accept (he never took the time to deny it).

And that was where he found his problem. Did he want to go out for drinks tonight? A part of him did, yes. He missed Alfred terribly; work had been nothing but sheer, demanding labor; and oddly, his right shoulder ached. Normally just the latter of the list would drive him to drink. But lately he simply hadn't felt like it, and he had a good idea as to what.

With just a few clicks of his mouse, he could see Alfred, talk to him as if he were in that very room. It was a massive relief to his daily stresses – like a viral detox. The only thing was that he desperately wanted to _touch_ Alfred. He was tired of reaching out when the American wasn't looking only to brush his fingertips against the flat computer screen instead of the creamy, tanned skin he ached for.

He exited out of the text and opened a new message addressed to Alfred, pausing with his fingers over the screen of his mobile.

**[Arthur]**

**Alfred, how would you feel if I went out for some drinks tonight?**

**[Message sent 7:11 PM]**

Arthur waited with baited breath for an answer – it was noon over where Alfred was, and the American could be doing anything; riding, wrangling, cleaning – whatever the hell he did (or didn't do) on the ranch. Although his worries were quickly allayed as his mobile vibrated in his palm, signaling a reply.

**[Alfred]**

**? Thats fine if u wanna. Idk y ur askin me… :P**

**[Message received 7:14 PM]**

He frowned at the message, a small pang of hurt striking through his chest for some unfathomable reason. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting Alfred to say; but he knew that if he were in Alfred's shoes… He didn't want Alfred drinking unless he was there with him – to protect him, to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. He'd be worried and… Arthur sighed. Maybe he should just be glad that Alfred wasn't controlling, but still…

**[Alfred]**

**If u go, txt me when u get home so I know ur okay! Have fun and I love u! :D**

**[Message sent 7:15 PM]**

At the follow-up text Arthur smiled gently. That insufferable oaf, he certainly had a way with saying exactly the right thing, despite his lack of proper English and vocabulary, exactly when he wanted to hear (or read, in this case) it.

**[Arthur]**

**There are times when I simply adore you, poppet. I promise to text you as soon as I return home.**

**[Message sent 7:17 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Drinks it is. Be here at 8.**

**[Message sent 7:17 PM]**

* * *

><p>Francis was somewhat astounded. He watched with inquisitive eyes as Arthur merely sipped his watered scotch evenly, his green eyes sparkling a little from the warmth of alcohol. There were no drunken rants; no surge for anything to pour anguish into – nothing that remotely resembled Arthur in a pub. Francis rubbed at the stubble on his chin in thought. Perhaps this was a ploy?<p>

"You seem in good spirits," he dared venture, squinting a suspicious eye at the man in Arthur's skin. "How… unlike you."

Arthur blinked at the Frenchman. He dipped a finger into his scotch and flicked droplets of the liquid at Francis' face. "Belt up, Frog-Lips. Isn't a man allowed to be happy with his life once and a while?"

Francis frowned, flinching a bit at the small spray of scotch. "Then you must share your secret," he replied smoothly, taking a small sip of the wine in his glass, swirling it a bit afterwards as if he were attempting to discern it's particular taste. "The Arthur Kirkland I am familiar with is not one to rejoice without reason. Is it wrong of me to assume that you've found something… or maybe…" He grinned lecherously. "_Someone?_"

When Arthur didn't respond and blushed rather brightly, Francis' grin turned sharp. "Oh, _mon ami_! You must share with your good friend, Francis! Do tell, do tell."

"As if I'd tell you anything," Arthur bit back, snorting into his glass as he took another sip.

"I expected no less." He sat back in his chair, eyeing Arthur for a moment. Finally he said in a low, knowing voice, "It's your little _américain__, _is it not?" At Arthur's lack of answer again, he clapped his hands in victory. "Of course! You are not as discreet as you believe you are, my good friend. Ah, _l'amour _how beautiful you are…"

Arthur waved a hand in the air, making vague shooing motions that he normally made at his cat. "Bugger off, you blasted Frenchman." He finished off his glass and set it loudly on the counter of the bar and stood, yawning slightly. "Now, I suppose I'll be off for the night. I've an appointment to keep."

Francis huffed as Arthur left, his coat draped over an arm. Well, that wasn't nearly as fun as he was hoping it would be. Bored, he took another sip of his wine and pulled out his mobile. As he thumbed through his contacts, he had a stroke of genius (as this happened often, of course), and opened a message to the American in question. If he couldn't make Arthur squirm, he'd do the next best thing.

**[~Le Sexy Beast~]**

**Arthur tells me that you and he are finally a couple! How sweet it is to hear! Am I invited to the wedding?**

**[Message sent 8:43 PM]**

**[****Américain Alfred]**

**O rly now ? Good on him. And no. Arthur said no Frenchy frog people at the wedding. Sorry dude.**

**[Message received 8:45 PM]**

**[~Le Sexy Beast~]**

**You're no fun. Where is my amusement when I seek for it? **

**[Message sent 8:46 PM]**

**[****Américain Alfred]**

**Oh. Okay ill tell u a joke then. Y are there so many trees lining the streets of Paris?**

**[Message received 8:48 PM]**

**[~Le Sexy Beast~]**

**I don't care to know.**

**[Message sent 8:48 PM]**

**[Américain Alfred]**

**Because the German Army likes to march in the shade! :P**

**[Message received 9:01 PM]**

**[~Le Sexy Beast~]**

**This has ceased to be amusing in the slightest. Keep your jokes to yourself.**

**[Message sent 9:03 PM]**

**[****Américain Alfred]**

**I have more where that came from. N keep ur nose outta my damn business. **

**[Message received 9:06 PM]**

Francis scowled at his mobile, taking a large swig of his wine as he glared at the newest message. His plan had thoroughly backfired on him, and he motioned to the bartender for something stronger. "Fucking Americans," he grumbled vehemently. He supposed Alfred had picked up a few things from Arthur… "Damn Brits," he added for good measure as he set himself to drinking. Hopefully he'd end up in someone's bed in the morning.

* * *

><p>- <span>In the Midwest<span> -

*_November_*

Alfred grinned widely as Arthur's face appeared on the screen. The Briton looked a bit haggard; his green eyes missing their usual luster and the skin around the corners of his eyes and mouth seemed to droop with heavy, tired creases. Alfred tapped the mic in front of his mouth. _"Happy Birthday!" _he greeted after a moment's hesitation. _"Now you're twenty one! You're legal to drink in my country! Isn't that exciting?"_

Arthur smiled wryly. He sat at his kitchen table as per usual – Alfred could tell just by looking at the cabinets behind the Englishman. _"And what a birthday it's been." _He glanced off to the side, his brows furrowing momentarily. _"Is there something you wanted to tell me?"_

"_Eh… I really wanted to wish you a happy birthday – oh! And to tell you that I love you! And, oh yeah, did you get my gift in the mail?"_

There was a pause as Arthur seemed to think, running a finger along the side of his face. _"Ah, no… There was nothing in the post this morning. I'm sure it'll be here soon, however. Just seeing you is gift enough, I daresay."_

Alfred scoffed, but had grace to blush lightly at the… well he supposed it was a compliment. _"Aw shucks, Art. It's no problem, and you know it! When ya get that gift, lemme know what you think right away! I'm positive you'll love it." _He watched as Arthur looked off to the side again, his tired face falling slightly before he refocused his gaze on the computer. _"Art…? Arthur? What's going on? You seem… uhm… distracted."_

"_It's nothing you need concern yourself with," _was the Englishman's quick retort. When Alfred only stared on in concern, Arthur's resolve soon crumbled and he looked away guiltily. _"I err… My apologies. John is… sleeping on the sofa – and making quite a bit of noise at that. I'm just a tad worried about him."_

The American frowned. He settled his chin in the cup of his palm as he gave Arthur his full attention. _"Why's he passed out on your couch? Did he get a lil' carried away with the celebration or what?"_

Arthur simply shook his head. _"Close – I actually didn't have a party. I was merely going to spend the day at home relaxing – don't give that look – but he simply came to my door, utterly pissed, and fell onto my sofa. He's been there ever since. And that was about… four hours ago." _The blond sighed thinly, running nimble fingers through his hair in distress. _"I think it's getting worse, Alfred. His drinking… He's out of control."_

Unfortunately, Alfred could relate. He bit his lower lip softly, wishing he could say something other than, "I'm sorry," or "I know how you feel." Neither of those ever helped. Finally he settled on what he knew would be the last thing Arthur wanted to hear, but he knew it needed to be said, _"Arthur… you might… You should look into getting him some help – like how my Pa got Matt. It's prolly for the best."_

"_Ah… perhaps you're right. But… I don't believe it's _that _bad. It's just been since Oliver hopped across the pond, he went into a little spiral. They were very close, I'll have you know. When Oliver returns, I'm sure everything will return to normal." _Arthur glanced into the adjoining room once more. _"However, if it gets worse, I'll have to talk with Mother… Speaking of which, she's asked to meet you one day."_

Alfred took the change of subject in stride – he recognized Arthur's tactics easily by now, and changing the subject back would only upset his boyfriend further. Instead he blinked owlishly at the monitor. _"You… you told your Mom about us? I mean, what did she say? Does she really want to meet _me_?"_

Arthur smiled, small and pleasantly. _"Of course she does. She wants to know who managed to "__tickle __ickle__ Arthur's fancy" as she put it." _He grimaced, although the gesture somehow still had an air of fondness about it._ "She's a sweet woman, really. Has no idea what her sons are getting up to behind her back."_

With a bright grin Alfred replied with a courteous, _"I can't wait to meet her, then," _before Arthur professed his yearning for sleep – not that Alfred could blame him. They exchanged their routine farewells, and hushed "I love you"s before Alfred shut down the computer, a heavy feeling settling uncomfortably in the cradle of his stomach. He was worried – and rightfully so. He knew, firsthand, how alcoholism could tear apart a family, from the inside out.

Sometimes he wished Arthur would take him more seriously.

* * *

><p>*<em>January<em>*

Alfred stood in the spacious indoor corral of one of the neighboring horse ranches. His friend – one he hadn't seen since the other graduated a year before him – Toris, had a leg up on a bar of the corral's fence, watching Alfred work with one of horses patiently. "Thank you for coming to help me out with this, Alfred," Toris said as the young filly bolted passed his spot on the gate. "She's so skittish… we can't even get a blanket across her back."

"Yeah," Alfred said with a chuckle, tossing an untied rope at the young horse when she began to slow to a trot. Is all he was doing was chasing the filly around in circles, waiting for her to grow too tired to be scared. It wasn't much work, but it took a whole lot of patience. "So, how've you been Toris? I haven't really seen ya much since my graduation."

Toris shrugged, leaning back as the filly recklessly brushed against the gate as she ran passed. "Nothing too much. I've just been helping Father with the ranch – same thing as you. We're planning on taking a trip to Lithuania next year, though. I can't wait to see what it looks like!"

Alfred grinned at his friend. Toris' great-great-(he couldn't remember the exact number of greats)-grandparents had immigrated to the States back when the Midwest was beginning to be settled, and had managed to a large plot of land for a small price, and ever since his family had been here. And not only that, but they'd only seemed to have boys, so Toris had some unpronounceable last name that had followed his family from Lithuania. "I bet it'll be great. Going to a new country is like walking into a portal or somethin'. The people are so different, and not whatcha expect…" His mouth scrunched to the side as he thought of just the right word he could use to describe exactly what it was like. "It's… humblin'."

"That's right. You went to London a while back, right? How was it? What all did you do?"

For the next few minutes, Alfred spent his time recounting his adventures to Toris, leaving out a few details, of course. When he was finished, the young filly was standing off to the side, her nostrils flaring with each heavy breath and her flanks were soaked in warm sweat. Alfred approached the filly slowly, pressing his gloved hands against the side of her neck and dragging them down to her ribs. Her sweat steamed in the cool winter air and carefully he set the rolled up rope on the filly's back, waiting for her to startle. When she didn't, he took the rope off and repeated the motion a few times.

"London was awfully rainy," he commented as he motioned for Toris to put the filly on a lead and asked for a saddle blanket.

When Toris returned and the horse was on the lead, they walked her about the corral for a bit. "I bet it was. I've heard few things about London. Is it true that the people there get really close to talk? Father says that a lot of Europeans do that."

Alfred gave a little bit of a half shrug. He hadn't really conversed much with the locals (beyond talking to others when standing in a grocery line out of sheer boredom – he'd never seen people so surprised by a little friendly chatter), and if Arthur had been close – well, he certainly hadn't minded too much if that were the case. "I'm not sure, really. Most of 'em kept to their own business. They didn't really go out of their way to say anything beyond a polite hello." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "And Arthur – I'm sure ya remember him – he's too nice, _sorta_, to really get up in your face if ya look uncomfortable."

Toris laughed and they brought the cooled filly to the center of the arena. "I still can't believe you kept in touch with him all that time." Toris' forest green eyes traveled upwards in thought as Alfred began testing the filly by rubbing the rope against her back once again. "If I remember right… when I had that project, my pen pal's name was Susan and is all she did was talk about how rich her Mother was – and she spelled it like 'mum': M-U-M. I thought it was the strangest thing in the world." He looked back down to Alfred, jogging over to grab the saddle blanket where it sat on the fence. "You must really like Arthur, then. I stopped writing Susan as soon as the project was over."

"_You don't know the half of it," _he wanted to say. Instead Alfred flashed a brilliant smile as they settled the blanket on the filly's back. The horse stiffened and pawed the ground restlessly, but did nothing beyond that. Toris sighed loudly in relief. "Now let's just lead her around until she gets used to the idea of havin' the blanket on. Just do that for a coupla days, and then ya can worry about the saddle."

The Lithuanian descendant smiled softly and nodded as they began walking around the corral and chatting away – catching up on all that they'd missed together. Living out on the ranch or a farm could be tiring, and lonely if you let it happen.

But as they spoke, Alfred couldn't help but let his mind wander back to Arthur. It had been a couple days since he'd last heard from his English boyfriend. He was starting to get worried, even though things like this happened from time to time. Life happened and so forth. But what was so important that Arthur couldn't pick up his phone and text a simple, "I'm still alive, love."?

On his drive back home, Alfred grimaced, tapping the dash of the old truck. The humming radio could barely be heard over the blast of the truck's heater pumped onto maximum. It was a cold one this year, and he squinted out at the snowy road, trying to discern if he was even on the road to begin with. Not that it mattered; he was just following the tracks of those that drove before him. If they made it, then so would he.

Suddenly his phone began ringing from his pocket and he pulled over, clicked his hazards on and fished the chiming device from his pocket. He stopped in mid-button press when he spotted his caller ID:

**Sir Arthur**

His heart fluttered and his stomach dropped all at once as he pressed the answer button and held the phone up to his ear. Holy shit this call was going to cost him a pretty penny. "Hello?" he answered nervously.

For a few moments there was nothing but a distant buzzing noise in his ear and he wondered – if my some slight chance – Arthur had butt-dialed him. And just as he thought about hanging up, he heard it, the muffled noise of sniffles and hot breath and what the hell, was Arthur _crying_? "Arthur? Arthur! Hello? Is that you?" he demanded, flicking off the radio in order to attempt to hear the other better.

"_I-I'm s-sorry…" _It was Arthur's voice, small and broken with hiccups and sobs. _"I s-should've lis-stened to you. A-And now h-he's… B-bollocks…" _There was a long, almost soothing sounding breath, followed by:

"_I… I can't come in March…"_

* * *

><p>- <span>End Chapter Eight<span> -

DUN DUN DUNNNN…

Thank you everyone for your support thus far! You've been really great! :) I'd like to add a little reminder (for future reference) that this fic is rated M. I'm not much for explicitness, but it's still there… so… yeah. /crickets

And as always! Thank you to **Lucia-luce **for betaing.


	10. Chapter Nine: Separate

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Nine: Separate_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium

* * *

><p>Arthur sat in the uncomfortable chair provided for him by the receptionist. An uninteresting stack of periodicals sat precariously on the end table next to him. He held his face in his hands, breathing deeply into his cupped palms. Connor sat in the chair adjacent to him. The air was silent and thin between them and somehow Arthur couldn't help but to feel that this was his fault – and the thought was a cold, dark stone that weighed heavily on his mind as the seconds ticked by.<p>

The double doors nearby flew open, and Arthur glanced up to see his mother, frantic and distraught, fat tears beading up in the corners of her bright green eyes. She spied Arthur and rushed to him, dropping her bag to the floor with abandon to press his face into her chest, attempting to give comfort and receive all at once. "Arthur, sweetheart, love…" She cried softly into the crown of his hair, as he managed to awkwardly pat her on the back. "Please… tell me…"

When Connor looked away, his freckled face pinched with anger and worry, their mother held Arthur's head tightly and hiccupped. Suddenly she dropped her grip on her youngest son's head and headed for the reception counter. "I demand to see my son," she snapped, her voice crippled and harsh from crying and fretting.

The receptionist smiled thinly, her patience had already been tried by the two present brothers. "I'm sorry ma'am… your son is in the ICU at the moment, and they don't allow for visitors."

"His name is Johnathan MacGregory. And I have every right to see my _son_, you tart!" Almost immediately Connor was up from his seat, ushering their bitingly crying mother into his seat next to Arthur. She flung herself into an awkward embrace with her youngest son, and Arthur carefully wrapped his arms about her, burying his face into the wool fabric of her coat that smelt wonderfully of sandalwood, once he saw Connor give him a stiff nod.

How long they stayed like that, Arthur didn't know; hours, days, years, maybe. It was a long while before his mother's hiccupping sobs died down to soft snivels. Chloe had come in soon after, and relieved Arthur from his position as pillow. He thanked his half-sister quietly, kissing his mother softly on the forehead, and put on his coat to go for a quick walk around the hospital grounds.

His legs shook beneath him as he walked and he felt that he simply should collapse onto the snow dusted walkway and blubber and cry all over again like he did when he was on the phone with Alfred.

And now that he thought about it, he didn't exactly give Alfred a proper explanation earlier, either. Just cried, said he couldn't make it, and cried some more – like a fucking girl. He sighed and watched his breath flood from his mouth in a cold, white smoke. Leaning against the pale wall near the designated smoking area, Arthur pulled his mobile from his pocket; quickly scanning the one text he'd missed over the course of the past few hours, trying to repress the flutter in his chest at the bold words that flitted onto the screen.

**[Alfred]**

**Call me when you can. Day or night, I don't care when as long as you call. I want to make sure you're okay. :( I love you Arthur.**

**[Message received 12:09 AM]**

Arthur smiled a small, watery smile at the text. He couldn't understand how Alfred could still sound so sweet and innocent even through simple words. He sighed and went through his contacts, pulling up Alfred's information. It was either now or never, he figured. With a press of a button he held the mobile against the shell of his ear, involuntarily shivering as the cold device touched his skin.

The mobile rang once; twice; and on the third ring it clicked in answer, followed by a heady, _"Hello?"_

Arthur hesitated a few moments, simply relishing in the sound that he knew to be Alfred's voice, before responding with a dry, "Hello…" He cleared his throat and squinted up at the waning moon. "Uhm… this is Arthur…"

"_I know that," _Alfred said with a small chuckle. The sound was warm and soft, and Arthur suddenly found himself wishing to be wrapped in the boy's strong embrace – as if nothing from the world could affect him as long as he was there, with Alfred. _"How are you holdin' up? Everythin' alright?"_

He sighed again. "It depends on your definition of 'alright'." Arthur paused, swallowed the cold night air thickly, and continued, "I myself am fine, I assure you of that. It's just… just…" And suddenly his throat constricted in that way that meant he was attempting to hold back tears once again. Quickly he breathed through his nose in short, shuddering breathes. "I'm sorry…" he mumbled after a bit, listening for Alfred's smooth assurances that it was fine. "I… You…" Arthur grimaced at himself. He must sound pathetic right now. "You were right… A-about John…"

Arthur could practically hear Alfred's breath hitch and the hesitation that stemmed from it. There was a rustling over the other line as Alfred moved about and whispered worriedly, _"Is he alright? What happened Arthur?"_

"It was an accident," he said in a rush, the words tumbling from his lips. It was something he'd wanted to get off his chest all night, but he'd been afraid to say more than, '_John's in the hospital – hurry over.'_ He peered around in the darkness for unwanted guests before continuing. "He… He was pissed – drunk – of course… yes, and well, we've just received a dusting of snow… and he was driving you see… and…"

Alfred made a sound between a sigh and a whine on the other line. _"Is he okay?"_

He stopped, breathed, took the time to watch his breath, and decided to answer, "We don't know."

"_Arthur… I'm so sorry. I don't – I don't even…"_

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault." The quiet of the night stretched around him. The chill air nipped at his cheeks and nose and Arthur repressed a shiver. He'd rather be out here than in there right now.

"_Hey," _Alfred said shortly, and Arthur wondered if maybe he'd dazed out for a moment and missed something. _"You know that I'm here for ya, right? If ya ever need to talk or anythin'… I'll be here."_

Arthur pushed away from the cold building, stalking back to the entrance of the emergency doors and simply peering inside at the scene. His Mother and Chloe sat together, whispering softly as a nurse approached them, her face mournful. "Alfred, I was the first one to the hospital," he said slowly, his head a whirlwind of emotions as the nurse began to speak – he only saw her lips moving as Chloe, Connor and his Mother watched her with baited breath. "They told me that John… at the very best would be in a coma for a while. And at the worst – and more predictably – he wouldn't make it through the night."

His Mother's face welled back into a fit of tears and Chloe clutched her close. Connor's face dipped down and he pressed a hand to his eyes. _"Arthur, you listen to me," _Alfred cooed into his ear, and Arthur closed his eyes – a hand pressed against the glass of the door. He wasn't here; he didn't see; it was only himself and Alfred and nothing else. _"No matter what happens, I'm gunna be there for you. You tell me what ya need, and I'll get it. You tell me what ta say, and I'll say it to ya 'til I'm blue in the face. I might not be perfect and I might not be able to say the right thing or get ya what you need at the right time – but… I'll do it for you Arthur. And… you're not alone. I'll never let ya be alone."_

A stray tear rolled down the cold curve of his cheek, and despite everything, Arthur found himself smiling bitterly. "My… wonderful, amazing, marvelous poppet – my love – my… I can't even think of a proper term. You are indeed perfect."

Alfred choked a little on the other line in embarrassment. _"Nah, ain't no one perfect. 'Specially not me."_

"But you are," he said, opening his eyes to gaze at the morose scene once more. "Perfect for me."

* * *

><p>*<em>February*<em>

Arthur sat alone but not alone in the sterile room with his closed laptop resting atop his lap. In one hand he held his mobile while the other tangled into the too white sheets of the bed he settled next to. Outside the weather was dreary gray and little speckles of rain splashed themselves against the window. The quiet in the room was only rivaled by the blank quiet of his mind. For the past three weeks everything had been so incredibly horrendous and long, and the weather so heavy and dark, that Arthur was positive he'd simply stopped thinking and only existed.

He continued to stare blankly at the wall opposite of him until his phone vibrated, violently wrenching him from the lulled daze that had spread across his body.

**[Alfred]**

**Bootin up the comp now. b on soon! :)**

**[Message received 3:42 PM]**

At that, Arthur set his phone on the rumpled sheets of the occupied bed and placed his laptop from his lap to the end table and opened the device. He woke it from its power saving sleep and began searching for the correct applications.

He waited for Alfred to get online before starting a new conversation with a new ingrained ease that came from countless different conversations over the past few months.

"_Hey there!" _Alfred greeted as his image spilled onto the screen. He smiled his usual dimple deepened smile and Arthur couldn't help but release the tiniest of grins in response. _"How are ya? How's John doing? Any news?"_

Arthur grimaced and turned the computer a bit so that the built in webcam could catch image of the man lying in the hospital bed next to him. Arthur could tell his Mother had stopped by to visit John not long ago, as his dark red hair was brushed and laying neatly to the side – the same way she brushed all their hair whenever there had been family photos. _"They gave him a ventilator today," _Arthur said softly, reaching out to touch John's unmoving hand. _"He's scheduled for another MRI in a couple of days to check brain activity… but… they're not hopeful."_

There was a stuttering pause from Alfred and for a moment Arthur felt horrible for putting the American in this situation. He knew Alfred wasn't good in morbid situations, and the way the young blond's face pinched with uneasiness should have made him want to end the conversation then and there. But he didn't want to. Somehow he felt that Alfred needed to see this – to be a part of this. It was his hardship and somehow it just felt… _right_, in a sense, to share the burden.

"_Well, I'm still hopeful," _Alfred said suddenly, looking childishly petulant. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and sighed. _"But… I just… Now that everything's all depressing – I wanted to say Happy Valentine's Day. Did you get the flowers?"_

Arthur's head dipped a little in embarrassment. _"Ah – yes. I received them at work. You wouldn't believe the fuss that Francis made over them. I uhm…" _He shifted the computer again so that it faced the corner of the room where a bouquet of lush, red roses in a frosty glass vase sat on a table. _"I brought them here – I came here directly after. They're lovely. I'm sure John will enjoy seeing them when he wakes up."_

The American grinned. _"Yeah, I bet! 'Coz he's gunna wake up soon! And when he does, things might be tough – but yanno, family is strong, yeah?" _Alfred chuckled awkwardly. _"Sorry, I sound lame. But I love you Arthur! I love you thi-i-i-is much!" _he exclaimed holding his arms as wide as and smiled goofily, making Arthur snort.

"_You're just like a child," _Arthur mumbled happily. His green eyes slid over to his comatose brother and he reached over to card his fingers through his red hair – ruining the hairstyle he knew his Mother painstakingly worked on. John never did like looking smart. _"But that's quite alright. And I do believe you're right. He will wake up."_

They shared a warm silence together, simply cozy with hope. And Arthur wished he could pluck up moments like these and store them away like priceless treasures – something to take out and admire on rainy days. He had a feeling that he would need them for days to come.

* * *

><p>A week later, when the lush, red roses had wilted and the tips of the petals dried into a ruffled black, John's neurologist escorted Arthur, his Mother and Chloe into a small, private room. They glanced about the white walls, shooting each other sad, desperate looks. Chloe grabbed one of their hands in each of her own, her pixie-like face somber. "We should wait for Connor," his Mother said softly as the neurologist shut the door with a click.<p>

Chloe shook her head, her coppery red hair swishing against her shoulders as she did so. "He can't make it – they have him working too far out today. I'm sorry," she mumbled and squeezed their hands reassuringly. Arthur let loose a long breath.

"I'm sorry to have called you all here," the neurologist began once the family had quieted down into a numb silence. He held a clipboard in his hands, the pen dangled uselessly in the air from a thin chain. "I'm very sorry to inform you that at five o'clock this morning, Johnathan was pronounced brain dead. He's not going to wake from his comatose state; he cannot breathe without assistance, and he does not respond to any outside stimuli. I'm sorry for your loss."

For a long moment the world seemed to simply stop spinning for Arthur. Chloe dropped her hold on his hand to clutch at his Mother as she slid to the ground, a choking sob erupting from her throat. The neurologist frowned in sympathy – he probably dealt with this type of situation often enough to become distant from it. He set Arthur with a level stare and pulled a cue card from his clipboard and handed it to him. "If you need to speak to someone of your loss, this is the business card for a therapist who specializes in this type of occurrence. If you ever feel depressed or in grievance for too long, don't hesitate to contact them."

Arthur took the card blankly, stuffing it into the pocket of his trousers without much thought. When the only sound was nothing but the muffled cries of the women, the neurologist gave a sharp nod and left. Arthur's ears rang and he pressed a shaking hand to his eyes as they began to water. Almost as if she were miles away, he heard his mother cry, "He was just a baby! My little baby! Gone!" He felt suffocated and empty and wrong.

Quickly he set a hand on Chloe's shoulder and pressed a kiss to his Mother's forehead before fleeing the scene; the hospital; his grief. How he ended up in his flat, he couldn't remember, but he completely bypassed his tea and went to his room, mechanically digging through his closet until he found what he was looking for. He pulled off his jumper with sharp, reckless movements and replaced it with a rumpled tee that Alfred had accidently forgotten during his visit. It was a size or two too large and proclaimed, _'Beef is what's for dinner'_, but he didn't care because it was Alfred's and it still smelt of the young American.

With a face that was the very definition of despair, he crawled into his bed and under the covers, pulling the extra pillow to his chest tightly as hot, messy tears began making tortured trails down his cheeks. Alfred couldn't hold him right now, but he could make due. With a strangled sniffle he pulled his mobile from his trouser pocket and tapped through his contacts. Is all he needed was to hear his voice…

* * *

><p>*<em>March<em>*

Somehow his Mother's house was smaller than he remembered it as a child. He tapped his knuckles on the old, oaken table that had been in this very same kitchen for the entirety of his life. The pads of his fingers traced the familiar scratches and stains along the surface as everyone else chatted quietly; tame. He thought it ironic that the loss of family brings a family together.

"I miss him," Chloe said suddenly, looking at everyone in the face, from his Mother, to Connor, to himself and then at Oliver – who had received two weeks of leave to come to John's funeral. "It's hard to imagine that he's gone… Like he's going to walk through the door at any moment and say, 'Just kidding!' To give us all a good fright."

Connor's face scrunched up at the suggestion. "That sounds like something the bastard would do," he grumbled, ignoring their Mother's protest of, _'Language!' _Briefly everyone's eyes fell onto the kitchen door, the air in the room growing still as they waited with baited breath for the impossible. When the doors remained shut tight, Connor turned back to their Mother, habitually taking her hand in his. "And what now?"

It was the question everyone was thinking, but didn't know the answer to. "Do we just… pick back up where we left off?" Chloe asked innocently. How does one fill the hole left by a brother? She hid her face in her hands from frustration at the dull silence that followed.

After a long, introverted silence, Oliver was the first to speak and everyone nearly jumped in their seats at the sound of his airy voice. "I don't see another option," he said quietly, adjusting the paperboy hat that pushed down his fair blonde hair. "No matter what happens, I have to return to D.C. in a week – which reminds me, Mother, I have news."

Chloe huffed, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. "Just like that? Forget about him altogether? Has the military stolen your humanity as well, Oliver?"

Oliver's dark blue eyes slid over to his half-sister. "I never said _forget_. I said _move on_. John was my brother too – we snuck out of the house at night together and broke into the Murphy's sheep field and sheered words into their fur," he mumbled nostalgically, despite their Mother's horrified face. "We caught salamanders and hid them in Chloe's bed, and we stole Arthur's books to draw naughty pictures inside – we were always together, of the same mind. Of course I'm upset he's gone – that he fell that low – but _god dammit, _it's not like I can _go back in time_ and _fix _it!" Throughout his speech, Oliver's voice slowly grew and grew until he was practically shouting at no one in particular. His pale face was flushed with feeling and he suddenly sighed sadly. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Chloe apologized with a slump of her shoulders. "I'm being a horrible tart," she said.

Their Mother sighed through her nose. Her lips pursed momentarily before she finally asked, "What's this news you were speaking of earlier, Oliver?"

"Ah – yes. I was going to say that in November they're transferring me to a new unit – only temporarily, but they need a specialist, and they chose me to go."

"And where are they transferring you to?" Connor asked, scratching absently at the freckles on his face. "Back over the pond I hope."

Oliver shook his head. "No… Actually it's some tiny town in North Dakota – it's by Canada or some other… But what I was going to ask… They're taking my belongings there by truck – and myself as well, and uhm…" he trailed off, his thick brows knitting as he seemed to search for the correct words. "I was hoping, Mother, you'd hop across the pond and help me move."

Arthur frowned in thought as their Mother expectedly agreed without qualm. "Where is North Dakota in America?" he found himself asking after his long silence. Chloe startled at the sound of his voice – as if she'd forgotten he was even there.

"That's right!" their Mother exclaimed, "Sweetheart, you were looking to go to America this month before all this happened, were you not?"

Oliver turned to look at Arthur in surprise, along with Connor and Chloe. He flushed under their penetrating stares and cleared his throat. "I… Well… Yes…"

Their Mother smiled and to Arthur it looked wolfish. "Oh, yes! You were going to visit your little love, Alfred!"

Chloe sputtered in astonishment. "Hold it! Just a tick – you mean _Alfred _like, _Alfred_ Alfred?"

"What other Alfred could there be?" Connor asked in retort. "Actually I'm more surprised the bloke is a poof. Overly fond of Arthur, maybe, but well…"

Arthur grimaced. "What does it matter with whom I decide to romance?" he muttered darkly, somewhat upset when his question went unheard as Chloe and Connor began telling their Mother all about Alfred from their few encounters with the jovial American.

Oliver leaned away from the chatter and towards Arthur, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "Is it true then?" he asked in a hushed voice, a small smile on the corners of his pale lips.

"Of course it is – do you honestly think I'd lie to Mother?" he answered in a furious whisper.

His older brother's smile widened. "Where does he live?"

Arthur gave him a suspicious glare. "What does it matter to you?"

"Eh… I'm just curious," he said easily. His blue eyes flashed to the other side of the table. "Maybe I can help you out? I can get both Mother and you tickets to America, you know."

Arthur's breath seemed to hitch in his throat at the proposition – a plane ticket to America wasn't exactly something to buy willy-nilly. "He lives in Nebraska. Why would you get me a ticket anyway?"

Oliver just shrugged, adjusting his hat as he was prone to do. "Nebraska… That's not too far from North Dakota. Just a state or two away. And… consider the ticket a birthday present then – to make up for the past couple of years that I've forgotten." He smiled widely at his youngest sibling. "I'm sure we can work everything out with your American – and I bet Mother's been wanting to meet him, you can tell just by the way she's eating up those stories Chloe and Connor are feeding her."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief, watching as the table's conversation switched from his love life back to the situation at hand and he sighed a sigh of relief. But to wait until November? That was eight months away. Arthur's stomach tightened at the sheer thought of having to wait another eight months. He glanced at Oliver and then to his Mother. He had no idea what to do.

* * *

><p>Arthur sat in his kitchen, idly scratching Excalibur behind the ears as the young cat curled up in his lap. He was already over the fact that there would always be orange cat hair on everything he owned from now on. His laptop sat on stand-by on his kitchen table, a cooling cup of tea next to it as he waited for Alfred to get online.<p>

Excalibur's claws kneaded into his thigh as a conversation invite popped onto his screen. With a roll of his eyes he accepted the invite and watched as Alfred's image burst onto the screen. The American smiled wearily, pushing up his glasses slowly. _"Hey, how are ya?" _he asked brightly after a moment of hesitation.

"_I just buried my eldest brother today. How do you _think _I am?" _he answered with venom. Arthur wasn't sure what attributed to his sudden bitter anger – perhaps it was bottled emotion from John's funeral that morning, or maybe it was the darkening weather outside, or even the fact that even though his brother was dead, he was still going to be working in the morning. But when Alfred's face took on a look that was the very image of a kicked puppy, whether the American knew it or not, Arthur sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. _"I'm sorry," _he grumbled as he ran a hand through his already messy hair. _"I shouldn't take things out on you, Alfred. I'm just at… wits end."_

Alfred nodded solemnly, his normally happy face subdued by Arthur's darkened mood. _"And m'sorry, too. I didn't think…"_

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched upwards. _"You rarely do," _he jabbed, quickly adding, _"And I love that about you," _before Alfred could protest. He reached over and grabbed his teacup, sipping on it as Alfred's image froze in place for a few seconds before the feed resumed. Sometimes it was a rude reminder that Alfred was really an ocean away. _"I have a question for you."_

"_Hmm? What's up?"_

Arthur tapped the tip of his nail against the side of his teacup, listening to the sharp clicks as he thought of the best way to approach the subject. _"What are you doing in November?" _he asked vaguely, arching a brow when Alfred seemed to seriously consider the question.

"_Well… other than Thanksgiving – nothing real important that I know of… well… uhm…" _the American trailed off unexpectedly and worried on his lower lip. _"Well, I dunno… but uhm – that brings us to the news I mentioned earlier…"_

Arthur didn't like the sound of that. And in all honesty, he'd completely forgotten any mention of news from Alfred. _"And this news is…?"_

There was a terse moment as Alfred ducked to the side and exited from view before he reemerged with a fat manila envelope in his hands. _"Well, in the mail yesterday I got this letter… and it's an acceptance letter from that University I was talking about – the one with the crazy Aerospace program? Remember?" _Rendered mute, Arthur nodded slowly, his stomach dropping lower and lower into the pit of his stomach with every word that spilled from Alfred's mouth. What could this mean for them? _"It's awesome! And crazy! But, well I called the University today – talked to an advisor. I told 'em how I didn't wanna have ta move onto campus until I absolutely needed to, yanno? And get this: she told me that I could get a full ride; all four years – if I minor in Physics. And my first three semesters can be completely online! So I can help Pa with the ranch for as long as I can."_

Alfred's grin was wide and filled to the brim with pride and hope – a hope that Arthur recognized quickly as the want for recognition, to be praised. _"That's astounding news," _he said softly, trying to keep his voice from wavering. _"But if I may ask, why physics?"_

"_Oh… Well, you see, they hand out these national test things when we're Seniors – our last year of school… And on my test – the one for science application – I got the ninth best score in the nation." _Alfred scratched the back of his head humbly. _"I'm kinda good at science and math. Only when I wanna be though. But I want to major in Business Agriculture, so if I want that free ride, I have ta minor in either Physics or Cellular Biology and I'd take Physics over that any day."_

"_Wait a tick." _Arthur set down his teacup roughly, his full brows knitting together in disbelief. _"You're practically a _genius_, Alfred, and yet you're majoring in _Business Agriculture_? You could be a physicist – any job you want! And you choose that?"_

The American's grin faded slowly as Arthur ranted. He fiddled nervously with the envelope in his hands, his blue, blue eyes slipping from the screen to look off to the side. _"I know what I want in life," _Alfred mumbled into his headset. _"I don't need nothing special – just the ranch, family, and… well… you." _He flushed a becoming blush across the apples of his cheeks. _"Although… I pretty much consider ya to be family…"_

Arthur coughed. _"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," _he said quickly, making Alfred chuckle. _"Back to my previous question, about November; I was asking because I was looking to visit around then…"_

"_N-November? But…" _For a long moment Alfred seemed truly at a loss for words. _"That's like a bazillion years from now!" _he cried at last.

"_I know, I know… But Oliver offered to buy my ticket – at the least the one there."_

Alfred snorted without amusement. _"If that's the case, I'll buy your ticket here! For like tomorrow!" _he whined, his forehead wrinkling under his desperation and displeasure. _"I can you know, I've been saving up ever since I came back. I can, I will! _Please_?"_

The Englishman shook his head slowly, tousling his wild blond hair. _"That's not the point, and you know – although I appreciate the offer." _He frowned and gave Excalibur a few extra scratches before shooing the animal from his lap. _"When I stop in tomorrow at work, I'm going to see how long of a vacation I can get, alright? I want you to count on at least two weeks."_

"_But I want to see you _now_!" _Alfred groaned miserably, his voice going an octave higher as he attempted to suppress a strained whine. _"I'm so tired of waiting! You should be right here, right _now_, and you're not and –!" _There was a loud clatter as Alfred hit his head onto his computer's keyboard with a dismissible grumble. _"I friggin' hate life right now…"_

Arthur chuckled slightly as he picked up his teacup once again and set his chin on the lip of his cup. _"As do I, my dear poppet," _he said with a tiny sigh. _"As do I…"_

They said their farewells – Alfred more exuberant with his than usual, as if he were physically trying to push himself passed the ill-news of another eight months worth of waiting – and Arthur shut down his computer with a frown. Time was already putting a strain on the barely-there relationship that they had. He was beginning to fear what another eight months could do to them. It had been stupid of him to think that perhaps they could make it through this as a couple – not when they were incredibly stronger as friends.

He sighed through his nose as he cleaned out his teacup and set it aside to dry. He absolutely refused to let Alfred go. He couldn't – not without seeing Alfred one more time.

And as he advanced towards his room to ready himself for bed, he couldn't help but think of how long eight months was, exactly.

* * *

><p><strong>[Arthur]<strong>

**Alfred… What are you doing for the entire month of November?**

**[Message sent 4:04 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Does that mean what i think it does? :D!**

**[Message received 4:09 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Clear it with your Father before you begin making plans, love.**

**[Message sent 4:11 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Consider it done! I LOVE YOU! :DD**

**[Message received 4:18 PM]**

- End Chapter Nine -

* * *

><p>Finally! ^-^ I thought I'd never finish this chapter, guys! D: I hope that I've been able to keep up each chapter's quality as this goes on. :)<p>

And as always, thanks to **Lucia-luce **for betaing! And now I'm off to work. /dies


	11. Chapter Ten: Inside

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Ten: Inside_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium

* * *

><p><em>*July*<em>

Alfred sat on the white porch swing that was in the house's wraparound porch, his booted feet kicking at the wooden railing in front of him with each forward swing. Insects hissed loudly in the dying sun and thick air, and Alfred let his head fall back as he simply basked in the warmth of the summer.

"Hey Al?" Alfred stopped swinging momentarily to glance over at his older cousin before closing his eyes again with a hum of recognition. Matthew was visiting for summer break, since he hadn't been able to during the winter due to several different flight cancellations due to Canada's crappy weather. He sat on the porch railing, leaning against the large, white painted support column at the end of the rail. "So about you and Arthur…"

Alfred sighed. "We've been over this a hundred times Matt. Yes, we're still together, yes he's visiting in November and no, I still haven't told Pa."

Matthew frowned, remaining silent for a long minute as he fanned himself with a hand. It really was too hot to be sitting outside, but Alfred relished in it and Matthew had a bone to pick with his younger cousin. "You need to tell him if you're serious about this whole thing," Matthew said a little snappishly. He watched as Alfred simply shrugged lazily and continued to swing back and forth. "Alfred!"

"What?" Alfred whined, throwing a hand over his face in frustration. "If it's that important to you, why don't _you _tell him then?" he huffed wearily.

The Canadian grimaced. "That's not the point, Alfred, and you know it. I mean, it's great that you've told Feliciano and all, but Alfred, he's your _dad_!"

"So?" Alfred sat up suddenly, his brows drawn together tightly. "That doesn't mean a damn thing. I'm going to tell him and he's going to kick Arthur out of the house when he visits. Or… he'll disown me… or even worse, he'll start drinking again! Because of me! Matthew, I can't let that happen – not after… after…"

Matthew sighed. "I understand," he said after a long, quiet moment, the sound of cicadas chirruping headily in the air. "It's just… the longer you wait… the harder it is going to be."

Alfred's face scrunched up uncomfortably. "I know, I know," he answered softly. "Let's not fight over it, please?" He put on the best puppy-dog look he could muster and watched as Matthew tried to give him a level stare before glancing away. "Anyway… So, tell me about this gal that you were talking about earlier? Kat or something? Talk about secrets…"

"I - ! Uh…" Matthew flushed a little and cursed at the heat of the setting sun. "Well, I didn't want to say anything because I didn't think it would last this long," the Canadian replied squeamishly. "Or be this serious…" He glanced sheepishly over at Alfred, who only chuckled in good humor. "And her name is Katya."

The younger cousin nodded, never was he so glad that he'd been able to pick up on Arthur's "change the topic" tactics. "And you're really bringin' her down here? For Thanksgiving? Don't you have school or something? I'm pretty sure you guys have Thanksgiving in October…"

Matthew smiled wearily. "We've been over this Al. Weren't you listening when I was talking to your Dad about it?"

"Not really. I was texting Arthur," he said with a casual shrug.

"You have no shame," the Canadian groaned. "Anyway, it's only for that weekend, and we'll be here to meet Arthur, and I'm not going to miss out on that. I have to make sure he's good enough for you," he chided, watching with a grin as Alfred grimaced.

Alfred's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he sent it a confused look. "Don't look at me – Arthur's already asleep." He arched a brow at Matthew. "And I'm definitely going to judge Kats… Kat, now. Imma call her Kat. I haveta make sure she's good enough for ya."

A feathery smile tugged at Matthew's lips as Alfred fished his phone from his pocket. "Who is it?"

**[Toris]**

**Labas, Alfred! Lithuania is so amazing! I made a new friend. His name is Feliks, from Poland! His family is showing mine around. I never want to leave!**

**[Message received 6:09 PM]**

"Do you remember Toris? His family has the horse ranch down yonder?" he asked, waving his phone in the general direction of Toris' house.

Matthew paused in thought. "Oh, the nice one? With the odd last name? Alfred, he's your neighbor, your properties touch, you shouldn't just say 'down yonder'." Alfred stuck out his tongue. "What about him though?"

"He's in Lithuania for the next coupla weeks. Pa's takin' care of their horses – and a coupla hands, too. That's why I've been pickin' up on the chores… Weren't you listening to Pa earlier?" he teased.

"I was too busy dreaming about Katya," Matthew responded peevishly. "She doesn't have texting – she's not really big on technology. I envy you sometimes."

Alfred snorted loudly, somewhat upset. "Trust me, there ain't nothing to envy."

**[Me]**

**Have fun dude! Bring me back a postcard! Or chocolate… or something cool looking. :P**

**[Message sent 6:12 PM]**

* * *

><p><em>*September*<em>

Arthur sat in the dewy grass, the morning sunlight tickling at the back of his neck as he hunched forward. A large bouquet of roses and thistle was placed neatly before the gravestone that he settled himself next to. "Seven months," Arthur murmured to himself, allowing his eyelids to slip closed as nothing but the sound of wind through the trees and the song of morning birds came to his ears.

The graveyard in the mornings, as Arthur had found out, was one of the most peaceful places he'd ever encountered. He'd found himself almost looking forward to his weekly visits to John's grave. It gave him time to himself to think, to grieve properly, and on occasion, a chance to vent frustration by arguing with this brother's headstone as if he were still talking to John and John were talking back.

"He hasn't contacted me in two weeks," Arthur found himself saying to the smooth granite slab as his hand dipped into his pocket to pull out his mobile. "Ever since that bloody videogame came out, he's been ignoring me." He huffed childishly as once again his inbox was devoid of all texts or emails from Alfred. "I mean to say, I completely understand that we need not speak every single day – but two weeks is an awful long time to ignore someone."

Arthur frowned and wrapped his arms about his knees, breathing in the fresh scent of rain on the grass. Alfred had warned him that when this new game came out, he would probably "drop off the face of the planet", as the American had put it, and Arthur had accepted that fact. But _two weeks_, he huffed again, only growing more and more upset with each passing moment he thought about it.

"Maybe I should threaten him a little – pull him back to reality?" He gave his mobile a calculating look, squinting one eye in thought. "It seems harsh but… _two bloody weeks_." And it wasn't as if they had that much longer to see one another either – just under a month and a half. With an agitated sigh he opened a new text message and fumbled about the keys until he decided his message sounded angry enough.

**[Arthur]**

**Alfred Franklin Jones if you do not answer this text as soon as you read it, so help me, I WILL cancel my flight. I tire of being ignored, you twat.**

**[Message sent 7:30 AM]**

He sighed a little to himself as he stuffed his mobile back into his pocket. He did feel marginally better now, although somewhat guilty. For the next few minutes he sat in contemplative silence before bidding John a farewell and slowly making his way back to his flat.

Just as he unlocked his door, Excalibur greeting him home with a mixture between a meow and a yawn, Arthur's mobile beeped twice to alert him to a new text message.

**[Alfred]**

**What! DON'T DO THAT! Are u mad at me? What's wrong? :(**

**[Message received 7:53 AM]**

Arthur stared at his phone a minute as he closed the door of his flat. Did he not just say that he refused to be ignored any longer? He frowned and all the frustration and stress and utter loneliness of the past month seemed to well up in his stomach all at once and he furiously texted in return, beginning to set up his computer in his kitchenette.

**[Arthur]**

**You. Skype. Now.**

**[Message sent 7:55 AM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Arthur its 1 am here!**

**[Message received 7:56 AM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Fine. But you better bloody well get on the second you open your eyes in the morning!**

**[Message sent 7:57 AM]**

**[Alfred]**

**No no look im getting on rite now. Im sorry. :( ill just have 2 b queit… im sorry…**

**[Message received 8:00 AM]**

With an almost satisfied, but still upset huff, Arthur turned to his computer and waited for Alfred to get online before opening a new conversation with the American. He wouldn't be lying if he said he was grateful to finally see Alfred's face again after so long, even if the boy looked upset and nervous.

Alfred was hunched forward in his chair, his brows creased with worry. He gave Arthur a sheepish smile.

"_This isn't the slightest bit funny," _Arthur found himself snapping.

Alfred's smiled dropped immediately. _"W-wha – Arthur? Wh—"_

Arthur cut the American off with a long, irritated sigh. _"Two weeks you've ignored me, Alfred," _he began slowly, his voice trembling from either the want to yell or sheer emotion, he couldn't tell. _"The first few days I understand, you and your blooming game – I understand. _Two weeks_, however… Am I truly that dismissible?"_

And there rang out the question he feared. Perhaps it was not the question itself, but its answer, and Arthur hesitated to look at the screen where Alfred sat. _"Arthur…"_ Alfred's voice was a whisper as he fought to keep his voice quiet and steady. Behind his wire frame glasses, Alfred's blue eyes looked conflicted in the dim light that emitted from his computer. _"Come on… of course you're not… This week's just been a real mess over here and I know that's a bad excuse, but it's true. We've been vaccinating the cattle and selling what we can before winter hits… I guess I just wasn't thinkin'."_

"_You could have texted me at any time you know!"_

"_Well it goes both ways, Arthur!" _Alfred snapped right back. They both flinched at the words. They each took a few moments of silence to collect their thoughts before Alfred sighed long and hard. _"Let's not fight… please. Not when I can't… just… I don't know. I wanna hold ya and just make everything okay again without words. I don't wanna fight when we can't apologize right."_

Arthur frowned heavily, noticing for the first time how truly tired Alfred looked. His strong face was stressed with sleeplessness as the beginning formations of small bags under the American's eyes seemed to grow more and more prominent with each passing moment that Arthur took to acknowledge them. _"I understand, you're right." _Arthur rubbed his face into the palms of his hands briefly. _"I just… do me a favor, will you?"_

Alfred nodded slowly, his lips pursed in a worried anticipation. _"Sure."_

"_Just… Say something incredibly stupid so I can feel less like a twit about starting this entire thing."_

The American laughed, quietly and restrained for fear of waking his father, but happily nonetheless. _"Okay sure, easy peasy! Hmm… Oh! Maybe you should shave off your eyebrows and get new ones tattooed on. Then you wouldn't have to worry about maintenance and people teasing and –"_

"_And right there is an excellent conclusion, poppet," _Arthur said with a grimace, habitually smoothing down his brows with his forefingers at the mere mention of them.

Alfred smiled widely. _"Shucks, you know I was kiddin'. I think you look perfect just the way you are. But I mean, if you really wanna get some tattooed, well that's your choice…"_

"_Alfred…"_

"_I love you Arthur! Imma hit the hay before Pa wakes up or I just keel over."_

Arthur smiled weakly at the computer screen. _"I love you too, dear Alfred. Sleep well and… ah… text me when you can…"_

After their farewells and another dimple deepening smile from Alfred and a promise to send a text that afternoon, Arthur shut down his laptop with a sigh. Somehow in the course of their fifteen minute long chat, Arthur suddenly felt like he weighed half of what he did before. His chest tightened in joy and longing at the very thought that he would be in the arms of his love in less than two months.

He turned to Excalibur with a gentle smile. "How does a little telly sound to you, 'Bur?" Excalibur simply mewled and followed Arthur to his sofa, purring as he curled himself onto Arthur's lap. They were going to make it, Arthur was sure of it.

* * *

><p><strong>[Alfred]<strong>

**I love you more than hamburgers and videogames combined! :D**

**[Message received 5:39 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**And I love you more than tea.**

**[Message sent 5:42 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**More than tea? Im pretty sure either the world just ended or I'm one srsly lucky fella. :P**

**[Message received 5:44 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Take your pick.**

**[Message sent 5:45 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Youre no fun! ... But I love ya anyway. ;P**

**[Message received 5:47 PM]**

* * *

><p><em>*October*<em>

Arthur packed his final case of luggage with an accomplished sigh, latching the locks with a finalized click. He had been waiting for this day for eight months – no, over a year now. It was a holiday that was long overdue. But what he most looked forward to was seeing Alfred's smiling face, to touch his hand, to hold him close. Arthur's stomach squeezed in giddiness at the sheer thought of it.

But before he could taste any of that, he had to endure an eight hour flight to Washington D.C., customs, followed by a two day drive to Oliver's base housing in North Dakota where Alfred had agreed to come and pick him up.

Francis was lying on his sofa, alternating between stroking Excalibur behind the ears and flipping the telly channels. "Now remember, I want everything exactly as I left it, not even a hair out of place on Excalibur's head."

"Yes, yes, of course. We have been over this. Do not touch, do not look, leave the food in the fridge and the drink on the shelf, do nothing more than feed the animal that inhabits your flat," Francis droned on, flicking a lock of golden hair from his face. "Don't you have to be somewhere now, hm?"

Arthur grimaced as Francis smiled lecherously up at him. "At least help me carry my luggage down, you lazy frog."

"_Mon Dieu_, Arthur! You packed everything within your immediate possession!" He sighed heavily at the scowl Arthur sent his way. "But since I am your humble friend –"

"– we're not friends –"

"– then I suppose I shall help you carry your luggage. After all, it is very rude of a gentleman to not help a lady in need."

Francis helped Arthur load his two bags into the waiting taxi, nursing a sore rib where Arthur had managed to sneak in a cheap punch. Arthur's mother sighed happily at her son as she exited the taxi briefly to greet Francis. "Are you ready dearie?" she asked Arthur, petting his hair and attempting to put it into place. "And it's lovely to see you again Francis. It's nice to see Arthur can indeed keep friends."

"Oh, _Mademoiselle_, I am but a rare exception. I must say it is a pleasure to see your delightful face once more."

Arthur's Mother giggled, as she was prone to do to flattery, and Arthur sent a deadpan look to the Frenchman. "Stop talking before I give you a hospital visit," he growled, grumbling further when his Mother only pat his cheek in an overly patronizing way.

"Hush now, save your bite for the flight. Hopping across the pond isn't as simple as you'd have it," she said with a thin smile. Arthur knew that his Mother wasn't looking forward to the long flight – or being in America. She just wanted to see her son, take a holiday from work, and be important to someone.

Arthur sighed through his nose; he knew that feeling all too well. "Let's go, we're running up the meter."

The airport was bustling with people in the early afternoon. A crisp chill had fallen over London, causing frost to spider-web across glass surfaces of windows and panes in street lamps, only to melt after an hour or two of direct sunlight. A porter, at that behest of his Mother, came and unloaded their luggage from the taxi as his Mother paid the fee.

"There are too many people here," his Mother commented after they'd checked in their luggage, and headed towards the appropriate gate. A couple, probably French, stood in the middle of the crowd, snogging shamelessly for all to see. Arthur ripped his eyes away before his Mother had a chance to see what he was looking so intensely at. "You would have cause to believe that no one would wish to fly so late in the day."

Arthur shrugged. "Ah, when Alfred visited, Mother, there were still crowds well after ten at night."

His Mother tusked. "No sense in that."

This was going to be one long, traumatic flight, Arthur decided, pulling his mobile from his pocket. His fingers shook with gleeful anxiety and having his Mother next to him, stiff an unreceptive to the situation, made him feel as if he were being too emotional or dramatic. He bit on his lower lip as they walked, tapping the letters on the screen of his phone with a practiced ease.

**[Arthur]**

**Unsure of how you suffered through flying so well. I have a story idea to keep me occupied. I feel I may finish a novel before I reach America.**

**[Message sent 4:45 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**On the way thre i slpt, chatted up sum girl, plyed my PSP n slpt again. N u gotta lemme read ur story! U nver share them. :(**

**[Message received 5:00 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**What have I told about texting and riding Nova? And that's because they're personal. Maybe if it's good I'll let you read it.**

**[Message sent 5:01 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**I dun no how u can tell the dif btween whn im drivin n ridin. I bet theyre all good. :D**

**[Message received 5:04 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Flatterer. My plane is boarding. I'll update you on our layover. I love you.**

**[Message sent 5:07 PM]**

* * *

><p>The migraine that Arthur had incurred over the course of eight hours was astronomical. His Mother said something next to him, twittering with a folded piece of paper in between her fingers, but he hadn't heard a single word she had said over the pounding of his temples. The airport in D.C. wasn't any better when it came to crowds than it was in London, in fact, it was probably worse than London.<p>

People rushed by constantly, accidently bumping into his elbow or tripping over his shoe with every forward step he took, all the while talking horrendously loud with their obnoxious city accents, stiff and blunt, far unlike Alfred's lax and easy-going speech patterns. His Mother clutched the crook of his elbow throughout the entire wait through customs, occasionally muttering something bitterly (as she tended to be when she was discontent and tired – Arthur empathized), and trying to ignore all the blatant stares they received from others. Honestly, did he look at Alfred like that when the lad had visited him?

Oliver was waiting for them at the luggage carrousels, dressed in the army's new multi-terrain pattern, his legs spread out slightly in an almost parade rest stance before he broke out into a large grin after spotting Arthur and their Mother.

"It's about time," Oliver greeted, cheerfully clapping Arthur on the shoulder as they approached. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost. D.C's an easy place to do that in."

Arthur could only nod stupidly, his migraine pounding as his green eyes traveled around the vast airport. It was highly annoying that the intercom would sound off every two minutes, declaring the security level to be orange or some other color and to report missing luggage. It was a right nuisance and it helped his ailment not.

His Mother sniffed softly. "Oliver, why are you in such dreadful rags? Should you not be wearing your black suit? You're in no threat of danger or combat – oh, but you look so sharp done up in your black suit."

Oliver smiled lightly, fixing the blue beret that sat on his head. "Back home I'd be wearing the black suit, Mother," he answered easily. "But here the ACU's are more recognized, as American soldiers only wear their formals to… outings. I'd be like an egg in a pickle jar."

"Well, I suppose it can't be helped," their Mother said with a sigh, taking a moment to press out a wrinkle in Oliver's shirt. "Let's grab our luggage, then. I'd like a spot of rest before this drive."

As they headed to the appropriate conveyer belt, a young woman suddenly darted in front of them, her bag clutched in one hand as she stared up at Oliver with large brown eyes. "Thank you very much for your service, sir!" she exclaimed in a bright and brash accent. She smiled sweetly as Oliver merely coughed and thanked her, before she simply nodded and wandered back off into the crowd.

"Is that normal?" Arthur asked as the carrousels began whirring with life, multi-colored bags and cases slowly winding through their predetermined path.

Oliver gave a half shrug. "The other soldiers tell me it's not uncommon," he answered. "Anyway, I've a hotel ready for you two. We'll start our road trip in the morning, considering it's already late."

* * *

><p><strong>[Alfred]<strong>

**I wish you had just flown straight here! I'm dying knowing ur in the US and I cant see you! DYING!**

**[Message received 3:01 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**I'd rather be with you than stuffed in a coach with my Mother and brother, believe you me. Mother is still grabbing anything she can with every turn. Oliver thinks it funny.**

**[Message sent 3:03 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**What do you mean? And I guess family road trips are kinda lame… maybe its coz you don't have Matt to keep u occupied like i normally do :P**

**[Message received 3:09 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**You drive on the opposite side of the road here. Mother is convinced the coach will tip or some other. I wish I had you to keep me occupied.**

**[Message sent 3:11 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Isn't that what im doin now? Keepin ya occupied? And we drive on the right side, the right way! You guys r the backwards ones.**

**[Message received 3:13 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Subtle meaning flew over your head. Fret not. I'll see you tomorrow evening, at six you said, correct?**

**[Message sent 3:18 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**You have such a dirty mind. :P But yeah, I should be there around six – I'll call ahead so they don't kick me out of the base housing or something**

**[Message received 3:24 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**Wonderful. Now if only I could skip ahead in time… I love you. Hope you can say the same once you meet Mother.**

**[Message sent 3:29 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Of course! I love you too! So much! But I've gotta help Pa clean up for your stay. Its just gunna get dirty again… cleaning is lame**

**[Message received 3:37 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**I expect to see everything spic and span when I arrive. You want to make a good impression, yes?**

**[Message sent 3:39 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Yeah yeah. Itll be clean when u get here. Maybe. :P**

**[Message received 3:41 PM]**

* * *

><p>It had taken most of the morning to unload the coach of Oliver's possessions and move them into the flat-styled housing. Almost every bone in his body ached, whether it be from sitting in a coach for too long or from tweaking his back when helping Oliver lift a sofa. Arthur stretched his arms upwards, arching his back until it popped and he sighed in relief.<p>

His mobile sounded off from his pocket and he suppressed a snort as Oliver fumbled with the wires of the telly, grumbling something about American outlets.

**[Alfred]**

**Hey art im bout 1 hr awy.**

**[Message received 5:14 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**I await your arrival with baited breath.**

**[Message sent 5:15 PM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Sarcsm?**

**[Message received 5:15 PM]**

**[Arthur]**

**No. And stop driving and texting!**

**[Message sent 5:16 PM]**

A long whistle came from the kitchen and it was a sheer relief to know that the tea was done. By the time he'd gotten up and into the small kitchenette, his Mother had already poured three cups of tea, adding a dash of milk to each before handing one to Arthur. "Quiet a lovely little place Oliver has here," she said, humming briefly before taking a sip of her tea. "I had been worried you know. I'm not still sure about America, but Oliver doesn't seem to mind it much."

"I don't think it's horrid," he replied slowly, waiting to see his Mother's reaction before continuing. "It's hardly a small country. Two days to drive halfway across… It boggles the mind."

There was a peaceful lull between the two (and now that she'd been rested and away from the crowds, his Mother was infinitely more tolerable), until there was a short curse from Oliver in the other room. "Oliver, love, do come in and have some tea – it's beginning to cool."

Finally Oliver decided to stop messing with the wires and cords and universal outlet converters to join them for tea. His beret had been replaced with his pageboy cap almost as soon as they'd moved all his furniture inside, his starchy blond hair tousled where it managed to peek out from under the cap. Arthur smiled to himself. To think, as a kid Oliver had the longest hair – even longer than when Arthur had tried to grow his own out – and now the military all but told him to shave it off.

"So, what do you think of it here?" Oliver asked their Mother once they were all seated around his small, rounded table, pushing an unopened box into the corner. It was probably just more dishes.

Their Mother shrugged. "There doesn't seem to be much. I haven't seen a single thing of interest for over a day now. It feels uninhabited."

Arthur chuckled. "That's why I want the telly set up," Oliver replied quickly. "There isn't much to do except work, drink, and watch the telly. A lot of the others in D.C. warned me about it, but I think it's a lifestyle that suits me better than the city, I'd say."

They continued to talk quietly over tea, simply catching up and sharing thoughts. Without his other siblings, it was actually quite civil, unlike most of their family gatherings. Suddenly Arthur's mobile beeped, interrupting something Oliver was about to say. He flushed, apologized, and pulled his mobile from his pocket.

**[Alfred]**

**Hey can u meet me at the gates? The guard is lookin' at my id like I have sum kinda disease or sumthin. :/**

**[Message received 6:09 PM]**

Arthur's heart stopped for a moment, quickly restarting its rhythm with an uncomfortable jolt. "A-ah… Oliver… Alfred's at the gates, but they won't clearance him through…" Alfred was here. His stomach rolled in his gut with anticipation, his hands shaking slightly as he typed out a short response as Oliver stood from his chair with a sigh.

"I'll be right back – he probably just needs someone in the housing to grant him clearance."

Arthur swallowed thickly as Oliver left. Suddenly he wasn't sure if he wanted to face Alfred any more. What if Alfred had changed his mind about everything and was just stringing him along? It _had _been over a year since they last saw one another, and he was sure one small, nearly insignificant and chaste kiss would be enough to keep the young American. What if they saw one another and everything was awkward?

"Love, are you feeling well? You've gone pale."

His Mother touched the top of his hand gently, pulling him from his dark thoughts with a start. "Oh. I'm fine, I assure you. Just… a little fraught."

She smiled lightly. "You are so darling, you know that?" There was a brief pause before she stood, her green eyes dancing merrily at her youngest son. "Come now; let's head outside to await your _beloved_. I cannot wait to meet this boy."

Arthur followed his Mother reluctantly, stopping to pull on his jumper before heading outside into the chilly air and down the wood and plastic stairs to the parking lot directly outside of the flats. It wasn't the most spectacular view, but Arthur knew that once he took a step off military grounds he would be lost in wilderness.

"It shouldn't be long now," his Mother cooed reassuringly, patting Arthur on the crook of his arm. And soon enough there was a loud rumbling of an old engine and a yellow truck, spotted with chipped paint and rust pulled into the parking lot.

And before he really knew what was going on, Oliver hopped out of the passenger side door – or what would be the driver's side back home – and then Alfred was running towards him, his jacket whipping behind him, his truck door open wide in neglect. Arthur braced himself, for what, he wasn't sure, but he hadn't been expecting the young American to nearly tackle him into the pavement, squeezing his ribs as he was lifted from the ground and spun around once.

He made some startled noise that was a mixture between a squawk and a cough before Alfred put him down, their faces barely an inch apart.

And suddenly there he was, right before him. His eyes bluer than Arthur had ever remembered, almost sparkling with that strangely, but decidedly _American_ glint. A few freckles had formed on the apples of his cheeks as his summer tan faded into a creamy beige that just screamed to be touched.

In that moment time felt like it stood still as Alfred blue eyes locked onto his own eyes and the American's puffed breaths tickled his lips due to their proximity. But before Arthur could whisper anything – romantic or not – Alfred leaned forward and pushed his lips against Arthur's.

The sensation was thrilling as Alfred's warm, moist lips pushed awkwardly onto his own, making a sharp contrast from the cold air. And as soon as it started, it was over. Alfred leaned back, grinning brilliantly at Arthur. "Arthur! I missed you so damn much!" the American exclaimed, pulling Arthur into another hug.

Arthur grunted, rubbing Alfred's back a moment before pushing his way out of the embrace. "I missed you too, but ah…" He coughed in embarrassment, shrugging and pointing to his Mother. "I'd like you to meet my Mother…" And he just felt like dying or crawling into a hole now. Alfred had just kissed him in front of his own Mother. He wasn't sure if the tight feeling in his stomach was joy or mortification.

"What a stunning young lad," his Mother announced suddenly, completely ignoring Arthur's embarrassment. She had walked up to Alfred, reaching up and pinching several parts of his body from his cheeks to his shoulders and chest. "Chloe told me he was tall and handsome, but one can only be sure when they see it with their own eyes." She smiled widely, patting Alfred on the face as the American remained still and sheepish for the entire inspection. "You're such a sweet dear. I can tell you love my ickle Arthur."

Alfred grinned at that. "Very much Miss… Uh…" Arthur sighed from his spot. Of course Alfred would forget his Mother's maiden name at a time like this.

"Rosaline. But please, just call me Rosie, dearie."

"Miss Rosie, I love Arthur very much," Alfred tried again.

Arthur's Mother hummed delightfully. "So very sweet. Come now; let's head inside and out of this chill. Alfred, dearie, do sit with us for some tea. I understand that you've come quite a ways to get here. Take a few minutes to humor an old woman."

Alfred made a shy noise as Arthur's Mother grasped the crook of his elbow. "But Miss Rosie," he said, reaching out to grasp Arthur's hand in his own as he was being led up towards Oliver's flat, "You don't look a day over twenty!"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, love," his Mother cooed, despite the cheered blush that rose to her cheeks.

Arthur rolled his eyes, the grin on his face so wide that he thought his face was going to go numb at any moment. Simply the feel of Alfred's hand in his own, warm and encompassing, he laughed lightly. "It won't stop him, I assure you Mother."

And finally, as they stepped into Oliver's flat, leaving the chill out doors, Arthur knew he was here – in America – with the one person in the world that he truly wanted more than anything. All the heartache and troubles of the past year seemed to completely vanish in every moment that Alfred glanced at him with those stunning blue eyes or squeezed his hand within his own. This must be what it felt like to be so deeply in love. Arthur wouldn't trade the feeling for the world.

- End Chapter Ten -

* * *

><p>And so begins the Arthur in America Saga… :P<p>

I feel like I did a lot of jumping in this chapter, but I tried to cover a lot of the more important points without rushing… but… gah… Also sorry about the long wait, too. Busy, busy, busy. Now I feel horrible because y'all waited for so long for this piece of crap. UGH. /dies

Why won't it snow so I can just be happy? D:


	12. Chapter Eleven: Together

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Eleven: Together_

_Important Notes:_John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukraine

* * *

><p>Alfred sat a little rigidly at the square table, turning his teacup around before him, watching the milk in his tea spin with the motion. Under the table Arthur was petting his knee as he attempted to listen to everything Miss Rosie told him – she was saying something about Arthur and bubble baths, but he wasn't sure he could keep up with that constant <em>petting.<em>

"He was such a wild child, I assure you," Arthur's Mother was saying, sighing and resting her cheek in her hand. "But he's grown up so well, such a wonderful dearie he is."

Alfred smiled squeamishly, quickly grasping Arthur's wandering hand in his own and giving a little squeeze that he hoped translated into a type of warning. He was almost bursting with excitement and joy just to have Arthur in the same room as him and it was difficult to remain calm and polite as it was, but with Arthur _touching _him like that, his nimble fingers brushing up against his kneecap and slowly tracing upwards before flitting back down. He swallowed hard. Arthur was going to be the death of him.

Quickly searching his brain for every excuse he'd ever used in his entire life, Alfred hurriedly pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time with a frown. "Is something the matter, dear?" Arthur's Mother asked as he pulled a grimace.

"Oh… Sorry. It's just that if we don't get on the road soon we might miss our check in time at the hotel…" he mumbled, wincing a bit at three distinct looks that practically shouted, '_What do you _mean _hotel?'_ "Uh! Well… yanno… it's a ten hour drive back! I don't wanna drive another ten hours straight! And I… I have ta be back at the ranch as soon as I can – we have a leak in the barn and it needs ta be fixed a'fore the first snow a-and…!"

Arthur cut him off with a long, amused sigh. "Don't be so frightened, Alfred," Arthur teased, ruffling his hair a bit. "You went as white as a sheet. I wonder what was running through your mind right then."

Alfred grunted in discontent. "I was thinkin' that I wanted ta sleep, but as much as _I _wouldn't mind sleepin' in the truck, I figured that _you _wouldn't and I was tryin' ta be nice and this," he shrugged as the faces jilted in teasing joy around him, "is what I get for bein' thoughtful."

Oliver stifled a laugh, taking a long sip of tea when his Mother sent him a withering glare. "Do stop teasing the dear," she cooed, raising her hands as if to pet Alfred some more, even though she was too far away to reach him. "Arthur, be grateful he even came to see you – he had no need, you realize. And Oliver! Be a proper host and refrain from making your guests uncomfortable. I raised you both better than this."

Both Arthur and Oliver seemed to wilt at the same time, mumbling, "Yes, Mother… Sorry…"

"Aw shucks Miss Rosie, thank ya kindly. I wish you were my Ma – keep Matthew from pickin' on me and stealing my French fries."

Miss Rosie flushed a little and Arthur pursed his lips. "I'm sure you've gotten that backwards, Alfred. You steal _his _fries."

Arthur's Mother giggled a little and Arthur's hand squeezed Alfred's tightly under the table, as if he knew that the next sentence uttered wouldn't sit well with anyone. "Well, your mother raised you right," she said, tapping the side of her teacup with a painted fingernail. "She should be proud to have a son like you."

To Alfred's credit, his face remained his happy neutral, and Arthur sighed inaudibly. "I'm real sure she did her very best, Miss Rosie. I'm proud ta be her son."

Arthur stood suddenly. Listening to Alfred talk like that – it almost made his skin crawl uncomfortably. "We'd best be going," he said shortly, tugging Alfred out of his seat. "Mother, Oliver – wonderful to see you as always."

Miss Rosie stood quickly, rushing over to Arthur and Alfred and hugging each of them fiercely. "Behave yourselves," she said, pressing a wet kiss to Arthur's forehead. "And be safe. I love you."

"Love you too, mum," Arthur mumbled sheepishly in response, blushing a bit when Alfred snorted lightly.

"And you!" she said suddenly, turning to Alfred and pushing her finger towards the American's face. "You take care of my little baby Arthur. If anything were to happen…"

Alfred smiled gently. "Don't you worry, Miss Rosie. I won't let a thing happen to him, I promise you."

Arthur grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets with a sniff. "If anything, it will be I who has to take care of _him_." Alfred only chuckled and Arthur took the American's hand in his own, still completely satisfied with the tingling sensation that jolted across his palm as his skin came into contact with Alfred's. "But we ought to leave now. Alfred…"

"Oh! Yeah! It was great being able to meet y'all. It really was. If you're ever in the U.S. again, let me know! I'd love to see everyone again."

And with that they left, leaving Arthur's Mother chanting something along the lines of, "He's such a sweetheart! Oliver, you can learn something from him!" They stepped onto the parking lot, their hands only pulling apart from one another as Arthur maneuvered himself next to the truck.

Alfred just stood behind the vehicle, a silly little grin etched onto his face after he'd tossed Arthur's luggage into the truck bed. "What are you grinning at?" Arthur asked, his brows twitching downwards in annoyance.

"Well, I dunno… Were you fixin' to drive? I mean, if you wanna, that's fine with me but…"

Somewhat startled, Arthur glanced into the window of the truck, spotting the steering wheel on his side. He huffed almost childishly. How many times was he going to make this mistake? "You would do the same thing in my position," he grumbled out. "You just didn't have to because I don't even own an automobile – I've no need…"

The American laughed, advancing on Arthur and hugging him easily from behind before pushing the Briton off towards the other side of the truck. "I know, I know. I'm just lucky like that, I s'pose. Now let's go before your Ma gets suspicious."

"Yes, yes."

* * *

><p>It was fascinating. Never in his life did he believe that by simply holding a person's hand he could feel so loved and complete. Their clasped hands sat in the center seat between them, Arthur's fingers rubbing soothing circles into the top of Alfred's hand while the American's thumb brushed sweetly over the bridge of his knuckles.<p>

They had been driving for a time now, and the sky was beginning to pink with the first signs of sunset, when Alfred suddenly pulled to the side of the road, the truck seats bouncing as the wheels went off into the grassy shoulder. There was a long silence between the two men before Arthur cleared his throat, his brows furrowed in confusion as Alfred merely stared hard at the steering wheel. "Something…?"

"Yeah… There's something I haven't told ya," Alfred said after a short while, his full lips pinching together tightly.

Arthur's stomach squeezed a little at Alfred's tone, and his grip on Alfred's hand loosened, but the American only tightened his own grip. "Bad news, I take it?"

Alfred rocked his head back and forth as if in thought. "Yes and no," he replied. "It's just… I don't…" He sighed and turned in his seat to face Arthur and catch his eyes with the most sorrowful and wounded look that Arthur had ever seen since that day Alfred had left London behind. "I know you're gunna be mad… but… please don't be – stupid thing ta say, I know… but – aw hell. Arthur, my Pa doesn't know about… _us_… yanno…?"

"Wait a tick," Arthur said after a stunned quiet, "You mean to tell me that you – after so many promises – _still_ have not come out to your own father?" Alfred seemed to shrink back into his seat, nodding reluctantly as Arthur pried his hand from Alfred's. "I can't believe you. I simply cannot believe that – _honestly_! You stupid tosser, you bloody git; idiot! I can't even think of an appropriate word to describe you right now!" He threw his hands up into the air with a huff. The only thing that kept him from climbing out of the truck and walking straight back to Oliver's was the fact that he was in the middle of fucking _nowhere_. "What the hell?" he breathed out angrily.

Alfred sighed, both of his hands placed firmly on the top of the steering wheel. "I'm sorry," he mumbled softly. "I really tried, yanno… I tried ta tell him, but… Every time I'd just be about to say it, I'd get scared, or he'd start talking about Matt's new girlfriend – giving those little hints… or… or he'd go off to the bar and I couldn't… I didn't want…" He pressed his fingertips to his eyes under his glasses, giving a strained sounding sniff before turning large, watery eyes to Arthur with the most pleading look the Englishman had ever laid eyes on. "I'm really sorry… I am. Please… forgive me, just a little?"

Green eyes flicked out the window at the browning grasses, to the watch on his wrist, and then slowly up to Alfred's face. He let loose a long, put-upon sigh. "I can't believe you sometimes," he said, although much more calm than before. He undid his seatbelt before sliding into the middle seat so he could take Alfred's worried face between his hands. "If I didn't love you so much, I'd have half a mind to just leave right now. And I suppose… that my coming out was a different situation than yours. I'm sure no one cares as much if the fifth youngest prefers kissing boys. But Alfred, you'll have to tell him some day. You're only stringing him along…"

"I know," Alfred sighed out, pushing his face further into Arthur's hands, his eyes fluttering closed in a brief contentment. "It's just that whenever he looks at me, I can't… He wants to know when I'm getting married, how many kids I'm gunna have, who I'm gunna pass the ranch down ta. He wants ta bounce his grandkids on his knee and have huge Christmas dinners. He just wants a normal life – as normal as it can get as he gets up in years."

"And what about you, poppet? What do _you _want?"

There was a long silence between them as Alfred seemed to search for the right words. The sky went from a light pink to a dusting of orange that seemed to seep into the centers of the clouds themselves, creating an almost ethereal glow. "I want the same kinda things," Alfred whispered at last. "I wanna get married, and ta have kids and pass down the ranch. I want big Christmas dinners and ta bounce my own grandkids on my knee, but…" His blue eyes found Arthur's. "I wanna do all that with _you_, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather."

Arthur was positive that his heart had stopped in his chest before it kicked into overdrive. "Ah… you…" He grinned so wide, that he couldn't even bring himself to scold the young American any more. Finding no alternative, Arthur quickly placed a warm kiss onto Alfred's lips. "But don't think I've completely forgiven you," he chastised after slowly pulling away, making Alfred chuckle.

"I think I'd be a bit disappointed if ya did," Alfred said, smiling at Arthur before putting the truck back into gear and driving back onto the road.

After another hour or two of driving, and plenty more of that intoxicating handholding, Alfred pulled off onto an exit ramp and made his way towards a small hotel before parking the truck and cutting the engine with a flick of his wrist. "This is it," Alfred said with a small yawn. "It ain't much, but it's family owned, and they were real nice when I stopped on my way up."

"You stopped on the way up?" Arthur asked with a raised brow.

Alfred nodded, prying open his door. "Yeah, ta book the room. I've got the key and whatnot. Imma just let 'em know we're here and then we can crash."

The Englishman watch as Alfred bounded off before rushing back to the truck and handed him a keycard, babbling apologies and that their room was number nineteen. Arthur smiled in amusement as Alfred was off again, and he decided that he might as well get his things together. With a bit of effort, he managed to pull his luggage from the bed of the truck and amble his way over to the wooden door with a number nineteen stenciled daintily on the front. He slid the card through the reader and pushed the door open with a grunt.

He stumbled inside with his luggage, shutting the door behind himself before searching for a lamp and flicking it on with a grimace. It was a decent little place, he had to admit, admiring the American cottage style housing with clean white walls, bright, earthy carpets and daisy patterned blankets.

Arthur fell onto the bed, just as the door opened and Alfred peeked inside before letting himself in. "You like it?" Alfred asked sheepishly as he closed the door, stepping over Arthur's discarded luggage to lean over the Englishman on the bed.

"Mhmm, it's nice. Doesn't smell like shit." Alfred smiled and sat on the bed, taking off his boots with a practiced ease. "What're you doing?" Arthur asked tiredly.

Alfred chuckled. "Getting ready for bed. You might wanna too, unless you plan on sleepin' like that?" Arthur groaned and reached to the floor, pulling one of his suitcases closer so he could fish out a set of sleep clothes without too much effort. "You sure are strange sometimes, Art," he commented with a shrug, pulling off his leather jacket with the same movement. He stood and made to undo his pants before he paused. "I uh… hope ya don't mind… but I didn't bring any pajamas with me. I was just gunna crash in my shirt and boxers…"

Arthur flushed a little as he sat up, one of his shoes halfway pried off. "Uh, well… no, of course I don't mind. I mean to say, why would I mind?" Arthur finished changing in the bathroom after Alfred had dropped his pants and crawled into Arthur's bed with a tired groan, completely ignoring the existence of the second bed in the room.

Hesitantly Arthur stood next to the bed, simply watching Alfred relax into the pillows before he turned off the lamp and climbed onto the bed. "Shove over a tad, love," Arthur whispered into the dark room, pushing at Alfred's shoulder a bit as to get enough room to lie down. It didn't help that the American had sprawled himself out over the mattress like a limp doll.

Alfred squirmed beneath the blankets to give Arthur more room, and as Arthur began to crawl beneath the warm fabric, Alfred wrapped his arms about the Englishman's waist, pulling him down into the bed. "I missed you so goddamn much," he mumbled, burying his nose into the juncture between Arthur's neck and shoulder. "Even sleepin' was hard without ya."

Arthur smiled softly, placing his chin on the crown of Alfred's head as the American breathed against his skin. It was an amazing feeling – simply having Alfred in his arms. "I missed you as well, poppet," Arthur whispered. He brought an arm up, wrestling it out from beneath Alfred's shoulder, to begin stroking the back of Alfred's soft golden hair, dusted with moonlight and shadow. "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure how I survived at all."

There was a peaceful quiet as the two men simply enjoyed each other, gently touching patches of skin or breathing in a scent they had forgotten existed. "Hey Arthur?" Alfred whispered.

"Hm?"

Alfred sighed hotly, burying his face into Arthur's shoulder before continuing. "Are… Were you mad at me – when I kissed you in front of your Ma?" He sighed again and buried his face further as Arthur attempted to scoot back and peer into the American's face with a curious look but to no avail. "I – I mean, yanno…? I was so damn nervous, too. It's not like I normally go up to people and kiss 'em… and you're so… gorgeous…" Alfred coughed. "Please make me stop talking."

A light chortle escaped from Arthur's lips. "Now why ever would I do that? You're saying such flattering things." On impulse he pulled Alfred closer, their bodies flush against one another beneath the blankets. He smiled. "And I'm relieved. The thought of you kissing random blokes had been plaguing me."

"Shut up."

Arthur smiled as he managed to pull away from Alfred a bit, just enough to be able to look him in the face, the pad of his thumb tracing the curve of the American's strong cheekbones. "You're simply lovely," he said lowly; sweet and loving.

Alfred nearly squawked in embarrassment, his blue eyes narrowed and looked away before finding their way back to Arthur's face. "Can I… We… Uhm… yanno?" He gave an unsure yet hopeful smile.

"You know… what?" Arthur teased, making Alfred groan.

With a shy huff Alfred said, "Don't make me say it!"

"Then just do it, love."

With a bit of trepidation, Alfred reached up and wove his fingers into Arthur's hair before hiking his chin up and pressing his mouth warmly against the Englishman's. For a long time Arthur relished the sugary feeling, happily pressing back towards Alfred. The kiss was chaste and innocent, and brimming with love. Arthur could barely keep his heart from thundering like mad in his chest. Finally he dared himself to go a little further, gently opening his mouth to allow his tongue to prod along Alfred's lips.

Alfred's eyes fluttered open nervously. "I don't…" he mumbled, pulling away slightly, "I've never… I'm no good at this, Arthur."

"Don't fret, love," Arthur cooed, pushing a lock of hair from Alfred's face. "I'm not worried about that. You can learn, and I'll be more than happy to teach you." He watched Alfred swallow shallowly before giving a stiff nod. With that bit of permission, Arthur sealed their lips together once more, carefully licking and nipping at Alfred's hesitant and shy lips. It wasn't until he felt Alfred meekly nip back that he truly felt he was pleasuring the other. He wanted Alfred to enjoy himself; he wanted to be the one to give the enjoyment. He wanted Alfred to be comfortable and happy and beneath him, holding him and running his hands across his skin. Arthur shuddered at the thought, an impulsive smile twitching upon his lips. "I love you," Arthur said, his voice heavy and breath hot against Alfred's face.

A nervous smile bloomed onto Alfred's lips. "I… I love ya too." He laughed through his teeth. "It's intense… sayin' it when we're so close. Like… my heart's gunna explode or something. See, feel." Alfred took Arthur hand in his, slowly pushing the Englishman's palm up against his chest. There was no doubt a strong, erratic beat of the organ within, and Alfred's face flushed a bit.

The action was so adorable and childishly sweet, that Arthur couldn't help himself but to lean forward and place a little airy kiss to the tip of Alfred's nose. "Alright," he mumbled happily, "Time to sleep. I don't trust myself any longer, and I don't want your first time to be in some roadside hotel."

"H-hey now! If I want my first time ta be in some cheap ole hotel, it will be!" Alfred huffed and then proceeded to bury his face into a pillow. "Not sayin' I do or nothin'… I want it to be real special, Arthur." He coughed sheepishly before grumbling lowly, in a tone that was barely audible, "But if it's with you, then I don't care."

Arthur chuckled and they slowly snuggled themselves back into more comfortable positions. "You're positively precious." And with those final words, the two men allowed the night to crawl on in a blissful sleep, their legs intertwined in a way that was for a sheer reminder that the other was really, honestly there.

* * *

><p>The remainder of the drive was uneventful, the land was flat and smooth, fields dotted with houses and silos along with a herd of cows every once and a while. Alfred was used to seeing the scenery, but Arthur found it immensely boring. "So, when do you plan to tell your father?" he asked desperately trying to keep himself amused.<p>

Alfred's hands tightened around his Styrofoam coffee cup and the steering wheel respectively. "I… I –I dunno? Why are you askin'?"

"For lack of better things to do," Arthur responded with a shrug. A frown wandered its way onto Alfred's face, and Arthur sighed. "You don't have to answer me, however. I'm just curious. Would you like to tell him while I'm here – I could provide you emotional support? Or maybe afterwards, in case there's a type of blowout?"

Alfred gave an unwilling sigh. "I dunno… I think it'll prolly be a spur of the moment thing – or Matt'll tell him because I'm so useless when it comes to shit like this." He bit his lower lip nervously. "So whatever happens happens. I just don't want you to feel unwelcome or somethin'."

"I see," was Arthur's only response. He reached over and pet Alfred's hand that was holding his coffee. "I was simply curious. I don't think I'll be able to not touch you, however. I didn't wait a year and three months to watch you across a room, poppet."

The American gave a begrudging smile. "Me neither," he admitted with a rosy hue to the apples of his cheeks. "If ya can behave in front of Pa until this weekend… He's going on a trip to the city to renew a contract with a few of the shops out there. About the beef… uhm… He'll be gone for a week… and…"

Arthur grinned mischievously. "Should I look forward to it?" he asked with a low dip in his voice, making Alfred cough nervously. Arthur chuckled. "I'll be on my best behavior, I assure you."

"Thanks… I guess," Alfred mumbled sheepishly. He tapped the top of the wheel in rhythm of a quiet song that managed to come through on the old, fizzled out radio. "Oh, hey, do you see those brick gate posts, out yonder?" he asked suddenly, after two or three songs had played and finished.

Arthur squinted at the landscape only spotting a few fences or houses and some trees. He shrugged. "Not in particular…"

"Ah… well, you kinda gotta squint. But those are the gates to the Jones Ranch, so we'll be there in about… twenty, give or take." He sent Arthur an excited yet nervous grin and is all Arthur could think to do was take the American's hand after forcibly removing his coffee, and giving the appendage a gentle squeeze.

* * *

><p>The Jones Ranch was much more vast and strange than Arthur cared to admit. Of course he'd seen a few vague pictures, but those normally had Alfred in them, and he wasn't much for studying the background. It almost seemed like an escape from reality. As Alfred slowly pulled the truck into a rusting white shed, he felt his stomach flutter and drop in anticipation. He was both excited and nervous to be here – so out of his element, and yet it was idyllic and new. He turned to Alfred with a smile. "Time to meet your father, then?" he asked.<p>

Alfred checked his watch. "Hm, actually he's prolly bringin' in the herd for the night – so maybe about ten or so minutes, I'd wager." He grinned as he popped open his door. "So, we should get your stuff inside and settled and make a pot of coffee… or uhm, I got you some tea and we have an old kettle thing, but I dunno how to make it… And tomorrow's Halloween! So we should sleep early to prepare for the scary movie marathon!"

The Briton blinked at Alfred's enthusiasm. "Well then… Let's not dally."

He followed Alfred out of the shed and towards the house, after a bit of an argument when Alfred insisted on carrying all of the luggage despite Arthur's protests of being very capable of carrying at least one bag. "Welcome ta my home!" Alfred blustered when they walked inside, a warm gust of air brushing at their faces to ward away the cold. "My great grandpa built it, and it's been remodeled and fixed up over and over – so it's not just an old place, yanno?" His bright, too blue eyes scanned Arthur's face, seeking a type of approval for his abode. Arthur could only smile at how adorable he found it. Alfred took it as a good sign and sighed happily. "Me and Pa set up the guestroom just for you, and it's right next to my room!"

They moved through the house, Alfred pointing out everything: "This is the den, where we watch T.V.", "That's the kitchen, and that's the basement door…", "This here's my room, and the door next to it is the guestroom and that one there is the bathroom."

Arthur smiled anxiously as they made their way into the guestroom. The walls were white with the exception of one wall, which was painted a deep red as an accent to the room. The bed was springy and made a squeak as Alfred dumped Arthur's luggage atop of the old, multi-patterned quilt that spread neatly against the mattress. It was cozy and rustic and for some reason it just screamed rural America that he always thought of when he read anything about cowboys or Old West America in his novels.

"Matt normally has this room when he stays over. So if you find something weird, it's prolly his and you can just chuck it under the bed. He'll find it eventually – well unless it's his Vancouver jersey. If you find that, lemme know so I can hold it for him, he's been missin' it for a while now…" Alfred babbled uselessly, scratching at the back of his head.

Gently Arthur settled a hand on the crook of Alfred's elbow. "No need to be nervous, poppet," he cooed, enjoying the way the American's face flushed. "You've a wonderful little home. It's cozy." He smiled lightly. "Now, I do believe you mentioned tea earlier?"

Alfred brightened immediately. "Yeah! I sure did! C'mon, let's go to the kitchen and I'll show you that kettle I was talkin' about."

* * *

><p>Arthur had a mug (Alfred didn't own teacups, and that was something he was determined to fix) of steeping tea, when the front door suddenly opened and Alfred's father walked in. The man blinked owlishly at the two men seated at the kitchen table and Arthur was amazed at how very similar Alfred and his father were.<p>

There was a long, strange silence between them, before Alfred's father broke into a very familiar sheepish smile. "Ah, yer back already? I didn't notice the truck comin' in."

Alfred laughed tersely. "Yeah! We got back a bit ago, so Arthur's stuff is all in the guestroom. I made coffee, too. And uhm –"

Arthur stood suddenly, making Alfred and his father jump in surprise. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Arthur Kirkland, and you must be Alfred's father. You two look frighteningly similar." He extended his hand in earnest, and somewhere in his mind he knew he truly wished to earn the respect and approval of this man. He was Alfred's father, and even though he didn't know that Arthur was… technically _courting_ his only son, it couldn't hurt to have a decent standing when the time came.

Alfred's father seemed stunned for a moment before he chuckled, grasping Arthur's hand in a firm, strong handshake that spoke of years of manual labor and hard, dedicated work. It wasn't much different than Alfred's. "Ah… M'sorry. You were talkin' so fast… I barely understood a word ya said…"

Alfred guffawed from his spot at the table. "That's what I thought when I first met him, too! You get used to it after a bit, Pa. But yanno… Hey Arthur! Say 'literally'."

The Englishman flushed in embarrassment. "I'm not going to make a spectacle of myself for you, Alfred," he grumbled, slowly returning to his tea, but not before remembering to punch Alfred on the arm. He glanced up at Alfred's father. "Uh, I'm not quite sure as to how to address you, sir."

"Ah, yeah. Confusin' ain't it? Just call me Fred, or Senior. Ta be honest, when ya share a name with yer Pa and yer son, ya get used to goin' by a lot of names." Alfred's father shrugged nonchalantly, moving further into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Alfred nodded. "Or you could just call him Pa…" Arthur grimaced; how informal! "Or…" he continued taking Arthur's face into note. "You could call him Uncle Al like Matt does? Or maybe even 'Hey You'! Or 'Dude'! Even better! You could call him, 'Bloke'."

"You're about as helpful as a cup of water to a drowned cat, Alfred." He stared down into his tea with a frown. Alfred's father took the chair next to him with a tired sigh, glancing at the ticking clock on the wall that boasted a meticulously painted rooster in fantastically bright colors.

Alfred's father took a long drink of his coffee, his blue eyes roaming between Alfred and Arthur before he decided to break the silence. "So, tell me, Arthur. What's it like over there in England? Is it really all fulla smog?"

After that they broke into a lax chat, and an explanation that London was _not _smoggy like most people thought. It hadn't been that polluted for _years_. And after an hour or two, Alfred and his father both professed their exhaustion and informed Arthur that they'd be up bright and early, although they'd allow him to sleep in. For that he was grateful.

Later that night, maybe an hour after he'd managed to unpack a set of sleeping clothes, Alfred snuck into Arthur's darkened room, leaning over the Englishman with a grin that almost seemed to glow in the dark. "Hey," the American breathed quietly.

Arthur fought back a tiny smile, shifting a bit under the warm quilt to better see Alfred's face. "Hello there, may I ask why you're in my room?"

Alfred laughed breathily. "Oh I see, it's _your _room now, huh?" His smile brightened when Arthur stuttered a bit. "It's fine – it'll be your room. But… I'm in here 'coz… I wanted… well… I wanted a goodnight kiss?"

The timid way in which Alfred's voice broke at the end of his sentence almost made Arthur chuckle. But he held it back with a good natured smile, unwilling to upset Alfred when he was being far too adorable. "This reminds me of the old novels," he murmured, reaching up to cup the side of Alfred's face in his hand, "Where the hero steals into the heroine's room at night to confess his deepest love."

"Pfft, are you sayin' you're the heroine?"

Arthur pinched Alfred's ear, earning a startled, 'Ow!' "No, I'm not, you twit," he grumbled before smiling once again. "Now, are you going to give me that kiss or not?"

"Mhm." And with a flutter of eyelashes, Alfred bent low and pressed his lips sweetly against Arthur's. "Goodnight," he whispered after he pulled back.

"Goodnight, love," he whispered back, patting Alfred on the arm. And as the American snuck back into his own room, Arthur grinned in absolute adoration. How did someone as plain and dull as he be blessed so wealthily with a person such as Alfred?

- End Chapter Eleven -

* * *

><p>Holy geeze, it's about time I finished this. : It started out real nice and then… my brain just keeled over or something along the way. D: I'm so sorry about that! :( If anyone has any suggestions/input, don't be afraid to message me, if ya'd like. :D I'm more than happy to hear from y'all and I'm always lookin' for ways to improve. Thank you all so much!

And as always, a huge thank you to **Lucia-luce** for beta-ing this! :D


	13. Chapter Twelve: Amidst

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Twelve: Amidst_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukraine

* * *

><p>Arthur woke up to a gentle shake. He groaned and mumbled something obscene under his breath before he recalled exactly where he was and turned over to glare sleepily at the person who decided to wake him. "Well, good mornin', sunshine!" Alfred chirped down at him, pulling the lovely warm quilt from under his chin. "I'm making some breakfast, so come on out when you're ready, okay?"<p>

"Shower?" Arthur managed to say as he stretched himself along the mattress, ignoring Alfred's amused laugh.

"Sure thing. It's just at the end of the hall. I'll grab a towel for ya and put it on the sink, then come on out to the kitchen, yeah?" Merry blue eyes watched as Arthur leaned over the side of the bed, pulling his luggage closer before rummaging through it for a change of clothes. "You really aren't a morning person, are ya?"

Arthur grunted a bit in response. He pulled out a neatly folded pair of trousers and sighed. "What time is it?" he asked, mournfully begging to extract himself from the little cocoon he'd made himself on the bed.

Alfred paused in the doorway. "Uh, I'd say 'bout a quarter after eight? Why?"

"I thought you said I could sleep in," he grumbled.

The amused smile that broke onto Alfred's face was almost startling to his tired mind. He did his best to glare, even though his eyes were dry and his face and limbs felt unresponsive. "You're so cute," Alfred said in a singsong voice, chuckling when Arthur made a grimacing face. "I've been up for hours now – the cattle come first, yanno? But the chores ain't done, so after breakfast I'd like to take you out on the ranch and show you around!" His smiled widened and his blue eyes seemed to almost sparkle with excitement. "You _have _to meet Nova! I'm sure she'll just love ya."

"That bloody horse," was Arthur's only response as he fished out the rest of his clothes, holding them to his chest. "I'll be quick about my shower, then."

Alfred nodded, darting down the hall to grab a fluffy green towel from a closet, and running back to give it to Arthur with a smile. "If ya ever need a towel or a new sheet for your bed, you can get 'em right out of the linen closet there," he said with a jab of his thumb to indicate the closet he'd just rifled through for the towel. "See you at breakfast."

Arthur smiled wearily and took the towel gratefully, slipping into the bathroom once Alfred left with a goofy laugh and a nod. The bathroom was an oblong shape with brightly colored blue tiles and peach highlights. A few white rugs were placed in front of the sink and the shower stall. It baffled Arthur that two men could have such a well decorated home – and to be able to maintain it so well at that. He wondered if maybe it had been the womanly touches of the past Mrs. Jones' that brought all this together. And the thought warmed his heart – this house itself was a piece of history, a testament to time.

He made sure his shower was quick and he toweled himself off, running his fingers through his dampened hair once he was dressed. It always looked nice when it was damp, but as soon as his hair dried it always ruffled out into an unmanageable mess.

The kitchen smelled thickly of batter and grease and Arthur blinked down at the table. Three seats were set with round, blue ceramic dishes, dinnerware, and clear glasses filled with frothy orange juice. It seemed so extravagant for a breakfast and his brow creased as he watched Alfred pull a flaky waffle from an iron with a fork.

"Good morning," Arthur said a bit hesitantly, pausing before taking a seat in one of the wooden kitchen chairs. His finger traced the edge of his plate. Alfred glanced back at him with a grin, his smile wide and bright and Arthur found it difficult to even be awake let alone so frighteningly chipper. "Is this normal?" he decided to ask with a shrugging motion at the scene around him.

Alfred chuckled a bit, walking over and placing a large serving platter of waffles next to a bowl lined with paper towels and bacon. "Yes and no," Alfred answered. "We always have a family breakfast after the cows an' horses are fed and turned loose. Breakfast and dinner. But for lunch you're on your own." He sat in the seat next to Arthur, pulling his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans and casually winding his other hand into Arthur's. "Just a sec, okay?"

The Englishman watched curiously as Alfred pressed a button and held the device up to his ear. A phone in the next room began to ring shrilly and Arthur jumped at the sound. Mornings just seemed to make everything louder. Alfred laughed lightly and squeezed Arthur's hand. "It's just me – there's a phone in the barn… Hey Pa! Breakfast's ready. We're waitin' on ya."

Arthur watched curiously as Alfred hung up his mobile and stuffed it back into his pocket. A family breakfast… He looked out at the table settled with warm food, cold drink, and condiments. He could just imagine what it would be like with a full family – cheery faced children squabbling, the warmth of the stove in the dewy mornings, the almost tangible love it required to have such sweet ritual. His grasp on Alfred's hand tightened. Why did they hold onto such a tradition when they were so broken?

"Alfred…" The front door opened and immediately they snatched their hands away and stuffed them in their laps. "Good morning, sir," Arthur greeted Alfred's father as casually as he could, trying to smile.

"Mornin'," Alfred's father replied with an energized huff. He sat in the unoccupied seat, shedding his thick, brown colored coat from his broad shoulders. "Looks good, Alfred."

Alfred smiled brightly. "Then dig in!" he cawed, his blue, blue eyes sparking with pride. Arthur couldn't help the smile that inched its way onto his face as he accepted the plate of waffles. Alfred was just too cute.

"Hey Pa, I'm gunna show Arthur 'round the ranch. Is there anything that needs ta be done?" Alfred asked once breakfast was over – a comfortable silence had fallen over the three of them, caught up in the drowsy morning atmosphere. Arthur rolled up the sleeves of his jumper as the sink filled with sudsy water.

Alfred's father shrugged his shoulders. "Ain't much to do today," the man replied with a sniff. "I'm just goin' ta check if the heatin' system is working good in the barn. Gilbert'll be over tomorrow ta help with the roof."

"Alrighty. Me an' Art got the dishes. You're gunna be home ta watch scary movies with us tonight, right?"

There was a sudden stillness in the kitchen as Arthur turned off the water flow of the sink. Arthur looked between Alfred Senior and Alfred Junior as they both paused before Alfred Senior shrugged and tossed his coat back over his shoulders. "I'll try," was the only thing he said before pushing his way outside.

Alfred visibly deflated, turning towards Arthur with a frown. "He prolly won't be joining us tonight," Alfred said in a tiny voice, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. "But that's okay! Everything'll be just fine."

Arthur grabbed the first of the dishes with a frown. "Poppet…"

"It'll be fine," Alfred reaffirmed with a shake of his head. "Oh, we could invite Toris over! Then it'll be like a real Halloween party!"

"That sounds like a smashing time," Arthur said with as much excitement as he could muster. Just seeing Alfred so upset broke his heart; the boy didn't like to show it, and he was terrible at hiding it. It made Arthur's chest constrict all the more. "Do you pass out sweets and cakes?" he asked, hoping to deter the conversation from the more negative spectrum.

Alfred's brows creased a bit, dishes clanking together as he scrubbed leftover syrup, butter, and grease. "Cakes…? Oh! Do you mean passin' out candy? If so, then no. We're out in the middle of nowhere, so not many people actually make the trip just for a couple candy bars. For the most part people just party and play pranks." He grinned sharply. "One year me and Toris let loose all the Hammon's steer into Mrs. Dumski's lawn. Aw, I swear we coulda heard her screamin' at the cows all the way back home."

Arthur snorted. "Well, if that's what you want, you best bell your mate now before he makes other plans."

"But the dishes…"

Arthur pushed Alfred away from the sink. "I'll finish them, fret not." When Alfred didn't move, Arthur pushed harder, making the American stumble back a bit. "I'm serious, you know. You get everything settled, understand?"

"Arthur…" Alfred smiled his dimple deepened smile that made Arthur's heart flutter. "You'd wanna meet Toris? Even though you have no idea who he is, or anything?"

"I just –!" Arthur huffed, relentlessly scrubbing a plate that was already clean just to give his hands something to do. "I want you to be happy, is all. Now stop making such a fuss and bell your mate."

However, instead of doing as he was told, Alfred's smile grew and he shimmied back up next to Arthur, peering out the window of the kitchen before dipping down and capturing Arthur's lips in a quick and tender kiss. "But I _am _happy," he murmured before scampering off to make his phone call. Arthur felt his face bloom into a pleased blush and he set back to work on the dishes with a tiny smile on his tingling lips.

By the time he was finished and had the dirty water draining, Alfred came back grinning. "Scary movie marathon starts at six!" he announced, waving around his cell phone a bit before sticking it back in his pocket. "And thanks for helping with the dishes, Arthur. Ya really shouldnt've 'coz you're the guest of the house."

"I'd rather be of use than to stand about like a lazy lout," he replied, drying his hands and rolling his sleeves back down. "Now, what are we doing until six?"

Alfred almost jumped in excitement. "Oh man, there's so much I wanna show you, Arthur!" He grabbed his leather coat from a peg by the door, pulling it over his shoulders quickly. "Do ya got a jacket or something, Art? It's mighty cold out – winter's gunna come early this year."

The Englishman paused. "Ah, well, all I have is my overcoat…" And he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted it dirtied as it was his only coat and rather expensive at that.

But Alfred only snorted in amusement. "I figured you might not come prepared," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "C'mere." He led Arthur into his room, pushing the door open slowly.

Arthur was startled when he walked inside. He imagined that Alfred's room would be messy – like any teenagers' (although the American wasn't much of a teenager now at the age of nineteen) – but the floor was clean and there were neatly piled books, video games, and magazines on cramped bookshelves. All of which were accompanied by bright blue walls and tasteful decorations; Arthur was impressed. He stopped when he saw an American flag framed and hanging across the entirety of one wall. It almost looked new, with obvious creases as to where it had been folded over many times in the exact same spots. Arthur stepped up to it, touching his fingers lightly to the glass.

"It was hers," Alfred said from behind him, making Arthur jump a little in surprise. "They gave it to me at her funeral and I remember… I didn't wanna just put it up in a box somewhere to get forgotten. But hey, this is my old jacket – it's real warm and it should keep you cozy from the wind."

Arthur looked away from the flag to see Alfred hand him a plain leather jacket that was similar to the one he wore now with the exception of the faux fur collar and sleeves, and the decorative patches. "Thank you," he murmured as he accepted the coat and tucked himself into it. It fit well over his jumper and he smiled at the old, earthy smell inside the collar.

Alfred took his hand and pulled him outside, dropping it once they were around the corner of the house. The wind bit at his nose and cheeks and he found himself pulling up the collar of the loaned jacket to try and protect himself from the unexpected nip.

"Isn't it great?" Alfred asked suddenly, standing at the crest of the hill that led down to the property of the ranch, the land spreading as far as Arthur's eyes could see. There was warmth of pride in the American's voice and he turned to Arthur with a hopeful glance.

Arthur smiled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the wind blew bitterly at them. "I've never seen anything quite like it," he answered honestly. "It seems like something from a story."

"Do you really think so?" Alfred asked, and when Arthur nodded firmly, he broke out into a massive grin. "I know! It's awesome isn't it? C'mon! I have to show you around!"

He took off down the slight slope, nearly skipping through the browning grasses and wildflowers. "Alfred! S-slow down!" he called, chasing the exuberant American down the hill and towards a large wooden building with a wide sliding door in the front. Alfred merely spun around as he ran, flashing a huge smile before turning back around and sprinting to the building. Arthur caught up to him shortly – he wasn't exactly athletic, and chasing Alfred in the cold when he could be sleeping wasn't his idea of fun. "Bloody fucking tosser," he huffed out, trying to ignore the burn in his lungs from the cold air.

Alfred only smiled at him, patting him on the back to patronize him further. "This is where the stables and corral are!" he said brightly, twisting a door handle that Arthur hadn't even seen and opening a door. He glanced over at the large, sliding door curiously. "Oh, that's for the horses – when we decide to take 'em for runs or bring the steer in."

"Steer?"

"Ah… Steer, cattle, cows, moo-moos – same thing, really. But if you wanna get technical about it…" Alfred chuckled when Arthur shook his head quickly. "Anyway, I have someone important for you to meet!" he went on, kicking around bits of sawdust as they walked down a center aisle; long stalls lined with hay and small woodchips surrounded them on both sides. Alfred stopped short in front of one of the stalls, making childish kissing noises. "Hey Nova girl! Look who came to meet you!"

Alfred slid open the stall door, reaching up to scratch the horse along her cheeks. Arthur hesitated – he'd never been around horses much, not since he was in school and they went on the occasional fieldtrip to see competitions. Nova was much larger than he'd imagined and he felt himself grow nervous as Alfred simply smothered the brown and black horse with scratches and affection. "C'mon Arthur! Just pet her nose – you'll be fine, I promise. Nova's a good girl!"

"I… I'm not so sure about that," he mumbled, watching Nova snort with a hint worry. "She's awfully… large."

The American stopped lavishing the mare to sidle up next to Arthur with a warm smile. "Hey, she's just a horse. She's prolly more scared of you than you are of her. Nova may be a mule sometimes, but most horses are pretty timid. Here." Gently Alfred cupped his hand beneath Arthur's, twining their fingers together so that the palm of Arthur's hand was facing upwards.

Slowly Nova's nose dipped, the whiskers of her chin tickling at Arthur's fingertips, until her velvety lips brushed curiously against Arthur's upturned palm. "So soft…" Arthur mumbled in a quiet astonishment and Alfred slowly dropped his grip on Arthur's hand. He watched as Arthur gained a little confidence and raised his hand to let his fingers touch Nova's nose, stroking the mare from her nostrils to between her eyes and back again.

Alfred smiled so hard that he felt his cheeks might go numb from emotion. This was something he'd always imagined showing Arthur. Seeing Nova taking an interest in the Briton as well... He wasn't sure what the pang in his heart was, but he was almost positive that it was pure joy. He excused himself a moment and jogged over to the tack room, pulling out a bag of horse treats and stuffing a few in his pockets before rejoining Arthur, who had began scratching Nova behind the ears like he always suggested.

"Hey Arthur, give her one of these," he said softly, placing the clover shaped treat into Arthur's palm and another one in the pocket of Arthur's pants, telling him that it would be for later.

Arthur held the biscuit in his hand for a moment before offering it gently out to Nova, making a sheepish noise when the mare took the treat between her rubbery lips, snuffing at Arthur's hand and tossing her head. Arthur gave a breathy laugh. "I've never done that before," he admitted with a flush. "I've never seen a horse up this close up, either. I've seen many competitions, mind you, but they're so…"

Alfred smiled. "Amazing," he finished, reaching up and patting Nova on the nose as she chewed. "Nova's prolly my best friend – after you of course. We pretty much grew up together, yanno? Got her as a little filly from Toris' ranch… We've been through a lot together, and it's just… it's great to see that she likes you."

"Likes me? Hardly." Arthur ignored the stinging flush of his face and attempted to level Alfred with a sardonic stare, but then suddenly there was loud breathing in his ear and a heavy tickle as Nova leaned into him, snuffing at his hair and nickering at the golden strands with her velveteen lips. "A-ah! My hair's not food!" he blustered, making Alfred snort with suppressed laughter. "Alfred!"

"See! She likes you!" he managed to say through his chuckles. "C'mon, let's bring her out to the corral and let her run a bit ta stretch her legs." Again Alfred dashed off to the tack room, grabbing Nova's lead and a couple more treats; spoiled mule.

He returned to see Arthur more flustered than before, his arms held out in both a defensive and surprised manner as Nova began searching Arthur's pockets with heavy sniffs and wandering lips for extra treats. Arthur pushed at Nova's head feebly, his face bright red in color when he couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do about the situation. "Alfred!" he huffed at the American when he approached. "Your horse is molesting me!"

Alfred guffawed, attempting to smother the sound with his hand as he pushed his way between Arthur and Nova. Of course he'd put the treat in Arthur's pocket for this exact reason, but he knew that if he didn't help out soon, Arthur would get too upset to have fun for a while. He choked on his laugh and pressed his fingers against Nova's sensitive chest, breathing deeply when she took a step back and tossed her head up a bit. He turned back to Arthur with what he hoped was a straight face. "Err, you okay?" he asked carefully, patting Nova along her neck reflexively.

"I… I suppose I'm quite alright. Just startled… I wasn't expecting… but – ah… Yes. I'm fine, thank you." He coughed awkwardly into a hand and sighed.

After a couple of apologies from Alfred, the American worked Nova into her lead and rope, bringing her and Arthur to the gated, indoor corral in the adjacent area. Alfred led Nova around the corral in leisurely circles, pulling Arthur by his side. "We have to walk her," he explained with a good natured shrug. "If we just take her off the lead she'll stand around, 'coz she's lazy. Either that or I could toss a saddle on her and take her for a ride, but I wanna talk to you."

Arthur complied silently, inserting himself next to Alfred and stuffing his hands back into the pockets of his borrowed jacket. "And you do this every day?" he asked, somewhat amazed. He knew that there was a lot of work involved in keeping a ranch of this caliber up and running, but all the small things that were added into the mix as well – it was almost overwhelming. How did these two even keep up with it all? It was truly mind boggling.

Alfred hummed a bit in thought. "We have this schedule – sorta. It's not set in stone or nothin', it's just… how we've ended up doin' things, yanno?" He gave Arthur a contented smile. "Wake up in the mornin' and turn the cattle loose, stock the feed bins and give the horses their oats and hay – Boss, that's Nova's son, actually – normally grazes out with the cattle, but we make sure he gets his oats. Then we get breakfast, and on Monday's we muck the stables, Tuesdays is the feed barn, Wednesdays we take stock, Thursdays are laundry days, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays are general maintenance and to keep up on whatever pops up – like vaccinations or health inspectors, USDA officials – things like that."

"Sounds like a terribly busy lifestyle…"

The American merely shrugged. "It keeps ya busy – and I'm not sayin' ya work constantly, but it's busy and…" He breathed deeply, his mouth screwing over the side as he seemed to think of the right words to express himself properly. "It's like that garden you want," he said suddenly. "Ya work hard at it, diggin' and weedin' and plantin', until you have this huge beautiful garden that makes people say, "Ooo!" and "Ahh!" – that's kinda what ranching is like for me. You put in all the work, and the result is a happy, simple life and it's more than I could ever ask for." Arthur said nothing but allowed the words to ring deep. He'd have to think on that later.

He spent the rest of the afternoon following Alfred around the ranch, taking note of the various buildings and occasionally asking questions when he wasn't sure what the purpose or use of something was. ("Aren't propane tanks dangerous?") But before he knew it, most of the chores were complete at it was well after four in the afternoon.

Before they returned inside, Alfred ducked inside the small rusting shed that he'd parked the truck in the night before, coming back out with a frown etched onto his face.

"What's wrong, poppet?" Arthur asked as they made their way inside the house. Arthur relished in the wave of warmth that lapped at his face like a loving puppy.

Alfred shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it by the door; taking Arthur's to do the same. "Pa took the truck," he mumbled a bit. "That usually means he went to the bar…"

A frightened pang dashed its way through Arthur's chest and, on instinct, he reached for Alfred's hand to grasp within his own. "Alfred…?"

"He'll be fine, I'm sure," Alfred replied with a shrug. "He does his heaviest drinkin' at home anyway, so he'll be just fine. We should make snacks and pick out the movies for our marathon, though. Toris should be over in about an hour or so."

Arthur wasn't sure he wanted the conversation to drop right there, and the way Alfred's shoulders tensed and his mouth turned downwards in the slightest of frowns, it made his heart ache with worry. After glancing around a bit, he slid his arms around Alfred's shoulders, burying his nose into the crook of the American's neck and sighing deeply. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Arthur, it's not your fault," Alfred answered incredulously, his chin brushing against the side of Arthur's head.

The Englishman only shrugged, nuzzling his face further against Alfred's neck. Alfred was warm and smelled of sawdust and earth. "I know, I know… but somehow I feel that it is…" He sighed and pulled away just enough to look Alfred in the face. "If you… ever need to talk – I'm here. Right here."

Alfred gave a tentative smile, reaching up to brush away a lock of hair that threatened to fall into Arthur's eye. "I love you," he whispered happily.

After that, the tension seemed to completely dissipate from the air, and they went about the next hour popping popcorn and sifting through Alfred's horrendously large stack of horror movies and video games.

* * *

><p>"Hello, my name's Toris Laurinaitis." The brunet stuck his hand out gingerly at Arthur, a nervous smile plastered on his thin face.<p>

Arthur smiled back, taking the proffered hand and shaking it with a bit more enthusiasm than he truly felt. "Hello Toris Larrann – I'm sorry… could you say that again?"

Toris chuckled. "Laurinaitis," he repeated. "It's alright if you can't pronounce it – hardly anyone can. But you must be Arthur, right? Alfred talks about you all the time, you know."

Alfred made some kind of choking noise in the back of his throat at that and Arthur flushed a bit. "D-does he now? And yes! I'm Arthur Kirkland; a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

"Thanks for inviting me over, guys," Toris said once they were all situated in the basement on an old, springy sofa. Alfred had brought down the wide television from the den, claiming that scary movies were best in the basement where it was dark. Arthur hadn't felt like arguing with him. "My parents went over to Father Vargas' place to celebrate with him and his brother."

"No problem, dude!" Alfred cawed brightly, slapping Toris on the shoulder and bending to pick up four separate DVD's. "Two doesn't make much of a party, yanno? And we have popcorn and a bag of Milkyways and there's soda pop in the fridge – we are so set! Now, me and Art have it narrowed down to four movies to start – which do you think we should watch first; 'Paranormal Activity', 'Dawn of the Dead', 'The Shining', or 'Psycho'?"

Toris smiled nervously. "Oh… uh… I don't know…"

"None of them are very frightening," Arthur drawled.

"Hey! Let him pick! When you're busy hiding under the couch and pissing yourself, I'm just gunna laugh at you!"

After a bit of squabbling between Alfred and Arthur, Toris quickly picked a movie at random and got up to place it in the DVD player. "I uh… I guess we'll start off with 'The Shining'," he said with a passive wave of his free hand. "Does anyone want anything to drink? I'm already heading up there…"

"Oh! Can I get a soda, dude? Please?"

Arthur grumbled a bit. "I suppose I wouldn't be against a fizzy right now…" He flushed when both Alfred and Toris shot him strange looks. "Would you stop that?"

Alfred laughed deeply. "I'm sorry! It's just, sometimes you say the funniest things – no matter how many times I've heard it." He turned his bright grin to Toris. "That makes three sodas! Thanks Toris!"

Once everyone was finally settled with their drinks and food, and the movie was playing with the surrounding lights off, Arthur finally allowed himself to relax. He'd already seen this film, so there wasn't much in the ways of suspense for him and he sipped at his can of coke lazily. Of course he'd never admit that the first time he saw it, he had nearly choked Francis to death for taking him to the cinema just for him to scream in front of a large group of people.

He watched as one of the actors began the "REDRUM" scene, and sighed a little bit. When the axe hit the door in the movie, Arthur had been expecting it – what he hadn't been expecting for Alfred to wedge his head underneath his arm with a tiny shriek, almost knocking the coke can from his hand. "Oh my god, oh my god, they're going to die!" Alfred whispered with fervor.

"No they're not," he grumbled, passing his drink to his other hand to keep Alfred from knocking it. He glanced over to see Toris leaning onto Alfred's shoulder, his eyes screwed shut and nose pressed into a throw pillow, chanting, "This is so messed up, this is so messed up!"

Arthur took another sip of his fizzy drink. He felt like the only sane one in the room.

* * *

><p>Arthur stifled a yawn as he moved about the basement with a rubbish bin, picking up cans and trash from the floor. It was two in the morning and they had been watching movies for eight hours in a row. It had to have been a personal record of his – he usually began to feel highly unproductive after about three hours of telly. Sometime over the past hour Toris had fallen asleep behind the sofa with a pillow and throw that had been folded across the back of the sofa. Alfred was sprawled out across the cushions, breathing heavily in his sleep. Honestly, he hardly expected himself to be the last one awake.<p>

Once he was finished cleaning, he settled his hands on his hips and stared at the scene before him. It was cute. It was juvenile. But most of all it was sweet and he was a part of it.

Quietly he stole his way upstairs, pulling the blankets and quilts from both his and Alfred's beds and went back down into the basement. Carefully he placed another blanket over Toris, making sure not to wake the brunet. Then he tucked Alfred's comforter around the sleeping American before wrapping himself up in the quilt that was on his bed and rolling up a smaller blanket to use as a pillow.

He thought it childish to not simply sleep in his bed, but his heart pounded in his ears with a kind of warmth that came from deep within his stomach as he curled up on the front side of the sofa so he could watch Alfred sleep – the American's glasses dangling from his limp fingers.

No, maybe it wasn't childish to want to be a child, even just for a night. He breathed in deeply, noting the scent of must and carpet, before finally letting his eyes close on the serene picture before him.

- End Chapter Twelve -

* * *

><p>Yay~! Thank you everyone ever for reading this! Y'all are so nice and sweet and fluffy and I love you~! :3 :D<p>

I wanna give a special thanks to **theheroandhisbrit** on _tumblr_ for beta-ing this while **Lucia-luce **is under the weather. Get well soon, Luce – and don't give it to me, dude. I dun want it. D:


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Found

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Thirteen: Found_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukraine

* * *

><p>Over the next two days Arthur attempted to fall into the Jones' routines. Although he was never awake early enough to help out in the wee hours of the morning, he had managed to be awake and showered in time to help make breakfast with Alfred. It was a rather comforting routine and he found that he rather enjoyed the small feeling of togetherness that the mealtimes created. It was so wholesome and beautiful.<p>

Arthur pressed dough with the heels of his palms, folding it over before grabbing the rolling pin. Alfred hummed softly next to him, stirring a large wooden spoon in a pot of slow cooking oatmeal. It was Sunday morning and they were making breakfast before they went to church, as was the Jones' custom. Arthur wasn't much for church, and Alfred had told him that if he didn't want to go, he didn't have to – it was his decision, and that Alfred didn't mind sitting out a sermon or two. He didn't want to make the Englishman uncomfortable.

Even so, Arthur had insisted that it would be fine; he could suffer through a sermon or two if it made Alfred happy; especially since the American seemed so excited about him meeting his pastor. "He's really a great guy," Alfred was saying as he turned down the flame of the oven's burner to its lowest possible setting. "I like to think that… well, you might find it kinda dumb, but I like to think it's thanks to him that we're here where we are today. Without his support… I dunno what I woulda done."

"It's not stupid, Alfred," Arthur mumbled as he began cutting out small star-shaped scones because it was the closest cookie cutter in Alfred's house to a circle and was decently sized. Alfred had insisted that it would be awesome and he knew his Pa would get a kick out of it, and so Arthur had reluctantly agreed. "If you want me to meet him, I will do so happily. All you have to do is ask. He's an important figure in your life and… well… I admit I might be a tad nervous."

Alfred paused, his hands holding a greased cookie sheet firmly. "Why? Because he's a pastor or a Christian? I promise he has nothing against…" His blue eyes scanned the kitchen window narrowly. "Against us. There's nothin' to be worried about! Now, his brother on the other hand… that guy's a real card…"

Arthur listened to Alfred babble about Dr. Vargas as he delicately placed one star scone after another on the sheet that Alfred held. Over the past year Arthur had grown accustomed to Alfred's tendency to babble, he even looked forward to it at times. Just the familiarity of Alfred's voice was enough to soothe him into a relaxed state of mind. He smiled at the American as he placed the last scone on the sheet, rolling up the leftover dough and ripping it in half as Alfred put the sheet into the oven.

"I'm positive Father Feli's gunna love you," Alfred said with a cocksure nod at the end of his rant, accepting half of the dough and popping it into his mouth. "It's hard not to."

The Briton choked a bit at the last statement. He pushed at Alfred's chest in mock irritation. "Only you would say that," he grumbled. "And you are by far more loveable than I ever will be."

Alfred scoffed. "Yeah right! You're so loveable – I can't resist!" He made a sudden show of holding out his arms and trying not to touch Arthur. "So… handsome… can't… not… touch…" Arthur rolled his eyes, despite the horribly infectious grin that spread across his lips in an almost involuntarily way. Without warning Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur's shoulders and placed a wet kiss on the side of Arthur's face, accompanied by a "mwa!" sound affect that tickled his ear.

"Wh-what on earth are you doing?" Arthur gasped out as Alfred continued placing sloppy kisses all over his face, and he was torn between pushing the American away and laughing. He finally settled on lacing his hands behind Alfred's neck and chuckling softly between each over exaggerated kiss. When Alfred was finally done, he pulled back with a grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth and contentment. "And just what was that about?" he asked, attempting to ignore the flush that must have been prominent on his face.

"Oh… just kissing the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," was the cheeky reply.

A garbled choking noise made its way through Arthur's throat. "N-now you're just saying things!"

Alfred only smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before disentangling himself from their embrace to pull his phone from his pocket. "Hey, Pa, it's time for breakfast…"

* * *

><p>Arthur found himself situated between Alfred and some humming brunet man in the pews of the rather decrepit, yet homey looking church. Colored sunlight wafted through the stained glass windows and he half-listened to the pastor speak about human morals. He wasn't particularly interested, but the soft – what he realized to be Italian – inflection of the man's voice was almost hypnotizing in the hush of the church.<p>

The pastor suddenly called for a hymn, and the brunet man next to him stopped humming softly under his breath. He turned earthy green eyes to Arthur. "Do you need a hymn book?" he asked with a charming white smile.

Arthur stuttered a bit as everyone else began to stand to sing. Alfred bent down a bit, holding open a worn book with faded lettering. "This is what we're singin'," he offered with a shy smile. "Hey Mr. C! How are you?"

"I'm well, Alfred. How are you and your father?"

Alfred began to respond, but was cut off by the beginning of the hymn and automatically began singing along once a few people in front of them turned around to toss a few expectant glares their way. Arthur fumbled over the words, watching as Alfred's finger traced the stanzas until he had caught up with them and began to mumble along.

Once the song ended and Arthur had breathed a sigh of relief (he honestly wasn't fond of his singing voice), Alfred leaned over Arthur and began whispering quietly to the brunet. "Me and Pa are doin' great. The ranch is too – but what's more awesome is that Arthur's here to visit for the month. Mr. C, this is my… best friend in the entire world, Arthur Kirkland."

"Oh? I knew you weren't from here!" the brunet man smiled amiably. "I'm surprised the pen pal program was so well received by so many of our students. You'd have to thank Emma for that; it was her idea to submit the school into the program!" An older woman whipped her head around from the pew in front of them, sending the Spaniard a hardened glare and a sniff. "Maybe we should continue this conversation at another time?"

Alfred chuckled lightly under his breath. "Yeah, we'll be sticking around a bit to talk to Father Feli." They both gave one another short nods of affirmation before turning their attention back to the pastor in the front of the sanctuary.

For the rest of the sermon, Arthur staved off sleep and boredom, rubbing his fingers along the soft, timeworn pages of the hymn book that Alfred had given him. At the end he mumbled an awkward "amen" before looking over to Alfred.

The American grinned down at him. "Let's go talk to Father Feli! Pa I'm gunna introduce Arthur to Feliciano!" Alfred's Pa gave a noncommittal grunt in response. Alfred led Arthur through the rows of pews, occasionally waving to a group of people and politely saying hello. He clapped Toris on the back in passing and the brunet smiled after stumbling a bit in surprise. Arthur gave him a small wave before being pulled further towards the front.

"Father Feliciano!" Alfred chirped, interrupting the pastor's conversation with an older gentleman. Arthur was about to scold Alfred for being so rude, but the pastor simply excused himself from the prior conversation with a large, heartwarming smile. "I'd like you to meet Arthur!"

Arthur stuttered a bit before sticking out his hand. "Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

The pastor shook his hand tenderly. "Just call me Feliciano, or Feli! But _dio_, it's been many years since I've heard your accent! Although I admit the last person I knew who spoke with such an accent was rather strange and creepy – I think it suits you!"

"Uh… thank you… I suppose." Alfred hid a laugh behind a hand, looking away when Arthur sent him a glare. "But, ah, I guess I should really thank you… f-for… helping Alfred," he mumbled, unsure of what he was supposed to say to the cheerful man that stood before him.

Feliciano smiled widely, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with the expression. "I did nothing!" he proclaimed. "I told him a story and he helped himself. It wasn't a miracle! Alfred Jr. is a smart man, just like his Mother and his Father. But, ah… excuse us one moment, if you will, Alfred?"

The American nodded slowly, watching with a hooked brow as Feliciano led Arthur off into a more private corner of the sanctuary. "Was there something you needed to tell me… sir?" Arthur found himself asking after a few moments of strange silence.

"Do you love him?" the pastor asked suddenly, the warmth in his face masked by an air of protective seriousness that Arthur wasn't sure the man could possibly even be capable of.

"I… I…" Arthur stumbled over his words, although he had the answer on the tip of his tongue. Of course he loved Alfred. He had loved the American for such a long, long time, even if he hadn't known it. "Excuse me?"

Feliciano's face quirked into a slight smile at Arthur's sputtering. "You sound offended," he stated.

"Of course I am," Arthur huffed, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "You doubt that I return Alfred's sentiment. And as appreciative as I am for everything that you've done for Alfred, I won't stand to have you blatantly insult my own feelings. And… and…" he trailed off with a blink. "I walked into that, didn't I?"

The pastor chuckled in good humor. "Yes and no. But it's wonderful to see you defend your love so readily! Ah, that brings back so many memories… Hm, but you know what they say, 'the past is for the old and the future is for the young', such as you and Alfred. I'm happy that you two managed to find and keep one another, and… you have my blessing, for what that's worth to you, Mr. Kirkland. Alfred's already told me you're not the religious type. I understand, but maybe someday you will be."

Arthur hesitated before letting a small, pleased smile trickle onto his lips. "Thank you, sir. It means a great deal to me, because I know it means the world to Alfred. Thank you."

Feliciano nodded serenely, but caught Arthur's wrist before the Englishman could wander off to where Alfred stood chatting happily with his old teacher and his father. "One more thing, before you go," Feliciano said at Arthur's curious look. "Don't hurt Alfred. He's been through a lot of pain – still goes through so very much. You're a bright light in his life, Arthur Kirkland, and if you were to harm him… well, I may just have to kill you – in a Christian way, of course."

"I… I promise? I would never hurt Alfred – never… not even accidentally." He coughed awkwardly as Feliciano smiled brightly in response and let him go, turning to skip off to join in a new conversation elsewhere.

He stumbled back over to Alfred and grimaced when the American clapped him on the shoulder. "So, how'd it go?" he asked cheerfully, his blue, blue eyes scanning Arthur's face hopefully.

Arthur shrugged a bit, avoiding the curious glances of the brunet man and Alfred's father. "I think… I think he threatened to crucify me, but… I'm not sure."

"Right…"

The conversation grew awkward with words that wanted to be said, but couldn't in present company. Suddenly Arthur's phone chimed with two beeps, announcing a new text message and he colored, unaware that he'd forgotten to turn it respectfully onto silent.

**[Frog]**

**I believe this creature of yours thinks it can speak. That's not normal, mon amie. Perhaps it is possessed. I can find no other explanation…**

**[Message received 11:54 AM]**

Arthur rolled his eyes, yet was thankful for the slight distraction. "I'm ready to leave when you are."

* * *

><p>Alfred's father left late that afternoon, after making sure all the chores had been finished and double checking that Alfred had everything under control. It took several assurances of, "Arthur promised to help me out", and "If things get bad I'll call Toris, no worries." Somehow the whole ordeal seemed rushed, yet took forever all at once. Arthur couldn't wait to have Alfred all alone.<p>

"So, if your father has the truck, how do you get groceries, or what do you do in case of an emergency?" Arthur found himself asking as they settled onto the couch to watch the telly, Alfred's arm dropping contentedly across his shoulders, allowing him to snuggle closer to the American.

Alfred smiled. "Well, I could always call Toris and ask if I can borrow his car. But for groceries, sometimes I'll just take Nova – they have a hitch in the back, it's pretty awesome. And she loves the rides. And for emergencies, that's what nine, one, one is for. Why? Are you expecting an emergency?"

Arthur huffed. "Running out of tea is an emergency."

The American barked out a quick laugh, burying his nose into the crown of Arthur's hair with a smile. "Well, if it comes down to it, I'd walk there and back for your tea if it'd make ya happy, Arthur."

"So selfless…" Arthur hummed in contentment, tucking his head onto Alfred's shoulder and grasping the hand that lay on his chest between his own hands, squeezing it briefly before sighing. "So, have you plans for this week?"

The television clicked over to a commercial and Alfred yawned. "Well… I have an idea for tonight… but…" he trailed off with a hint of trepidation, his arm tightening around Arthur for a moment. "Arthur, would you believe me if I said I'd do anything for you? _Anything _at all?"

Arthur stuttered a bit. "I… well… I would suppose so? B-but, surely there's a limit… O-of course there is."

"No. If you told me to come back with you to England, I would. If you told me to never leave – to give up the ranch and live with you forever, I would. I'd give everything up just to gain you. I would, Arthur. You just gotta say it, and I will."

A long, bewildered silence flooded the room, the television nothing but a mere whisper in the background. Arthur pulled his head from Alfred's shoulder to look the American in the eyes. He searched those bright, lovely, blue eyes for any hint of falsity. He waited for Alfred to crack a grin and proclaim a jest. When nothing of the sort could be found, his stomach fluttered in sheer joy and nervousness. For some reason, he almost couldn't bring himself to believe it. "D-don't be silly," he murmured, dropping his gaze to his lap. "There's no reason for you to do that… none at all. Not… not for me, no. Y-you're exaggerating, of course."

Alfred frowned slightly. "You don't think I'm serious, do you?" he asked in a small voice and Arthur ducked his head further without response. "Why don't you believe me…?"

"I never said I didn't!" Arthur harrumphed, choosing to hide his reddening face in his hands. "It's just… it's difficult to think of such things as possibilities… I… I'm sure I'll have a true wonder at it one night – experience an epiphany, and… and ask you to remain by my side, just to see if you will. But, Alfred…" He sighed again, rubbing his knees together in a nervously awkward gesture. "This ranch is your life, I know that. You cannot simply… _leave_. I've no wish for you to… It would be asking too much of you."

"It wouldn't be too much," Alfred replied petulantly, his lower lip poking out childishly.

Arthur touched the protruding lip gently. "But seeing you torn from the happiness that you've built for yourself… that would be too much for _me_." He smiled softly at Alfred's lost look, his blue eyes searching Arthur's face. "Don't fret over it now, poppet. We've the rest of this month to work things out – but, I will say this now: Nothing will happen if your father doesn't know. Understand?"

Alfred sighed in dejection. "I gotcha. And I'll tell him. I kinda… I kinda want you with me when I do. But I don't wanna think about that right now. I just wanna spend time with you – _quality _time. So… can we just cuddle for an hour to make up for all the cuddlin' we missed while Pa was around?"

The smile that spread across Arthur's face was Alfred's favorite closed mouthed, contented smile that made Arthur look so incredibly handsome and young. His stomach jolted pleasantly at the sight and he couldn't help himself but to kiss that smile, his lips tingling with sensations of joy and love against Arthur's lips.

This, he decided, was how love felt. It was tingly and gooey in his chest. It made his ribs swell like a balloon, it made him cry in frustration; it made him feel like he was the only person in the world in Arthur's eyes. It was more than he could ever imagine.

"I love you," he mumbled against Arthur's mouth, his words giddy and happy.

Arthur rubbed his nose against Alfred's cheek, hoping he didn't seem as silly as he felt for making such a goofily affectionate gesture. "I love you too, poppet."

* * *

><p>"So, if I recall correctly, you mentioned plans? Have you an appointment to keep?" Arthur asked with a stretch, curling and uncurling his toes to regain circulation in his cramped legs. They had managed to wrestle themselves into comfortable position on the sofa to watch a few science fiction movies.<p>

The sky outside was just beginning to pink with the earliest signs of evening, and Arthur had to blink to try and adjust his eyes after staring at the telly screen for so long. Alfred glanced outside and then to his watch. "Yeah… uhm. Okay, let's do this! Grab your jacket, I wanna show you something."

After a confused hesitation, Arthur nodded and did as he was told; fetching the leather jacket that Alfred had given him on his first day visiting. He shrugged the jacket around his shoulders and tucked his nose into the collar, inhaling cheerfully as Alfred disappeared into his room for a moment only to return with a duffle bag strewn across his shoulders.

"You ready, Arthur?" the American asked with a bright grin, holding out his arm for Arthur.

Arthur watched the gesture with amusement, neatly folding his hand into the crook of Alfred's elbow. He had missed doing that – ever since Alfred had visited him in London, and it was a joy to be able to perform such a simple and nostalgic pleasure.

He followed Alfred outside, pressing himself closer to Alfred as the winter chill kissed his cheeks and stung his eyes. "Where are we off to?" he asked after a moment, his voice muffled inside the collar of the loaned jacket.

"Oh, it's not too far," Alfred answered, stopping to peer up at the darkening sky, the clouds quickly changing from blushing oranges and pinks to a deep violet with clearings of bright, pricking stars in stark contrast. It was a beautiful sight, and the sky seemed to stretch on for eternity in any direction that Arthur looked. Suddenly he felt incredibly small against the canvas above him, as if it were a reminder that he was merely one person among billions. Small; insignificant; peaceful. "Gorgeous, isn't it?"

"…Astounding… It's like… an ocean above your head. And it's so dark, without light poles to get in the way. I never knew stars could be so bright on a cloudy night."

Alfred wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulder. "If I could, Arthur, I'd go up there and get every last one of those stars for ya. But I don't think any of them are as beautiful as you are."

The Englishman stuttered, flushing a becoming shade of pink as he fumbled over words to properly express himself and his flattery. "O-oh, you don't mean that, you lovely boy. And don't you think you could ponder up something more original, perhaps? Collect the stars… oh, poppet."

"Why?" Alfred asked suddenly, beginning to walk once more down the hill of dried grasses and towards the ranch. "What do you mean 'more original'? Has someone already used that line on you?"

"Well, no… but –"

"Then it's original. 'Coz everyone deserves to be told that the one they love would go through incredible lengths for them. I'd get you a star, Arthur, I would. Somehow, someday; and maybe it won't be a real star, but it'll be the best I can give." He looked down at Arthur with a smile. Their shoes crunched on the gravel of the footpath they took. The world was hushed, devoid even the sound of insects, only the soft breeze rustling through dried grasses and leaves and skeleton branches.

Arthur smiled back tentatively. "Then I'll just have to retrieve every last pearl in the ocean for you, love. I'll scour every depth the world has to offer… and, and I'll fashion you a blanket… of pearls, for you to rest your handsome head upon." He blushed, and cursed at himself softly for sounding like a complete imbecile.

Alfred laughed, crisp and clear in the evening air. He stooped a bit to plant a wet kiss on the side of Arthur's mouth. "Now you're getting the hang of it," he mumbled happily. "The cheesier the better, I say." Alfred paused and looked up from Arthur's face. "This is what I wanted to show you, in here."

He unwound himself from Arthur, stepping up to the old, wooden building and pressing his shoulder into the door in order to open it. Arthur peered inside, his nose twitching a bit as his nostrils were assaulted with the smell of dry hay and dust. "What's this?"

"The hay barn!" Alfred exclaimed cheerfully, running over to the massive stack of piled hay bales, and hopping onto one as he surveyed the stack. "Awesome, it's still pretty full… Arthur! Have I ever told you how much I love this place?"

Arthur stepped inside cautiously, surprised at how much warmer it was within the old building than it was outside. He quickly shut the door and sighed in relief at the stale, comfortable air. "So… this is what you wanted to show me?" he asked incredulously, taking a few more steps inside.

Alfred shook his head. "Well, yes and no. C'mon, climb to the top with me!" With that light command, Alfred scrambled up the staggered layers of hay bales, making his way to the top of the stack with very little effort and years of practice. "Arthur! C'mere!"

Feeling a bit foolish and confused, Arthur stepped up to the nearest hay bale, pressing a hand into the straw and testing its strength. He wasn't very sure about climbing an unstable stack of squared hay and he sent a quizzical look up to Alfred who had begun to busy himself with his duffle bag. However, instead of complaining he mustered his courage and attempted to tap into the sense of adventure that every Englishman was supposed to posses. Slowly he climbed the bales of hay on his hands and knees, ascending to the top not unlike climbing a flight of shifty stairs.

"About time!" Alfred chirped when Arthur finally made it to the top. The American had spread a blanket over the flat top of the bales, sitting with his legs crossed in the center. He held out a hand to Arthur, smiling with a nervous excitement as Arthur took his hand, sitting next to Alfred with a sigh. "This is one of my favorite places in the whole world," Alfred said after a long moment, their fingers twining together between their knees. "And I wanted you to see it."

Arthur hummed in understanding. He looked around a bit, the rafters of the building a few generous feet above their heads. There was a gap between the ceiling and the wall to keep the hay aerated and dry, a few angled support beams cut the soft moonlight that spilled inside, making the hay an almost ethereal color of pale yellow. It was musty and comfortable and secluded. Arthur nodded in appreciation. It almost reminded him of the family den at his mother's house and how he would curl up next to the fireplace with a good novel and read for hours on end. He wanted to bring Alfred there someday.

"I used to play here with Matt and Toris all the time. One time Matt got his leg stuck between some of the bales up top for almost an entire hour. He was so scrawny and his legs were so skinny back then that they just slipped into the gaps. Pa was hot under the collar when he found out we'd been playin' in here. He warned us over and over not to, but we never listened. Sometimes Ma would leave notes up top like, 'Alfred if you're reading this, go clean your room. Love, Ma.'" A melancholy twist of lips made its way onto Alfred's face. "I really… wanted to share this with you."

"You…" Arthur was at a loss for words, his heart thumping loudly against his ribs in almost a painful way. "Alfred…" He leaned over and took Alfred's lips with his own, sighing happily into the kiss as his fingers cupped Alfred's masculine face, tracing delicate circles into the skin of his cheeks. "I love you… so much…"

Alfred didn't respond at first, simply pressing his mouth against Arthur's once again. His calloused hands found their way to the zipper of Arthur's jacket, simply playing with the tab for a few conflicting moments before pulling it down with a loud zip that startled Arthur out of his euphoric bliss.

"Ah, what… was…?" Alfred's face was red with embarrassment, his blue eyes searching Arthur's face desperately in a way that was both childish and frighteningly mature. "Alfred… are you – are you sure?"

The American huffed a bit, blowing a few stray strands of hair from his face. "Why do you keep doubting me like that? O-of course I'm _sure_. If… if I didn't I – I wouldn't even bother!"

For lack of a better response, Arthur cooed nonsense words, running his hands through Alfred's hair as he pressed kiss after kiss onto the American's face. He took the Alfred's glasses from his nose and folded them neatly. "I'm assuming you had this planned," he murmured between kisses, taking a moment to catch Alfred's lips before pulling away with a wet smack. "So, have you protection or anything? I don't want to ruin this fine, beautiful moment."

Alfred nodded and pulled away to dig through the discarded duffel bag. With a deep blush he pressed two items into Arthur's hands: a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. "I, well… I mean… I thought about it… a lot… a whole lot. And uhm…yeah." He cleared his throat nervously; keeping his eyes averted from Arthur's amused ones.

"I see." Arthur set the items aside gingerly, moving onto his knees as he leaned forward into Alfred, nipping at his turned neck. "You're so bashful," he said sweetly, "It's endearing."

"I'm not -!" His protests were cut off as Arthur sealed their lips together once again, licking and biting softly at the corners of his mouth and the swells of his lips. Hesitantly Alfred began to open his mouth, allowing their tongues to touch and circle one another in a lustful curiosity. "I don't know how…" Alfred began again, breaking away from Arthur.

The Briton only sighed, putting a hand on Alfred's chest and pushing him down onto the blanket. "I've told you once, and I'll tell you again; I don't care about that. Not one bit. And there's absolutely nothing you can do that will make me love you less. Understand?"

Alfred's mouth twitched to the side as if in thought. He sat up a bit and reached within the duffle bag once again, producing another blanket. "It's… gunna be a bit cold… naked…" He coughed. With a nod Arthur accepted the blanket, shrugging off his jacket and beginning to work on the buttons of his shirt. "A-ah! Uhm, lemme… do that, please?" Alfred grumbled. His hard worked fingers took the place of Arthur's long ones, slowly popping open each button, his face a mask of awe and concentration. "You're so gorgeous," he whispered once Arthur was completely shirtless, Alfred's hands trailing experimentally across his chest and stomach, stopping to rub at Arthur's nipples, pert from the cool air.

"I'm not much to look at, believe you me." Arthur pulled the second blanket over his shoulders and began to work at Alfred's clothes.

Each article of clothing was taken off at a slow, casual pace. Every inch of newly exposed skin was explored by wandering hands and loving lips. Before either man knew it, they were both down to their boxers, laying flush together and kissing with wanton, openmouthed kisses. Their erections pressed together hotly and Alfred moaned what he thought might've been a little too loudly.

"You sound more than ready, love," Arthur teased, biting at Alfred's exposed collarbone. "A moment…" With one hand Arthur maneuvered beneath the blanket, carefully pulling off his boxers and tossing them aside. He watched as Alfred swallowed thickly, his eyes darting down and back up quickly. With a lusty grin he grinded his cock against Alfred's, wishing that the American's boxers hadn't impeded direct touch.

Alfred hissed in a breath, one of his hands moving down Arthur's spine to knead tentatively at Arthur's now bare butt. "I honestly have no idea… how to do any of this," Alfred admitted, although his voice was deep and hoarse.

Arthur's fingers slipped under the elastic of Alfred's boxers. "Don't fret, poppet. Just relax; I'll take care of you. Always…"

Soon Alfred's boxers were discarded, and they tangled together into a knot of limbs, kissing and licking and touching everything they could, gasping out senseless words and names. Nearly delirious with want, Arthur looked around, spotting the condoms and lube a little ways off. With a grunt he sat up and grabbed them, making Alfred squeak in shock at the sudden blast of winter air.

"Arthur! Get back down here, or I'm gunna lose my boner!" he whined, pulling the Briton back over him.

Arthur suppressed a snort, making a strangled choking noise of amusement as he covered Alfred once again, making sure to tuck the blanket beneath Alfred's shoulders. "Sorry, love, I was grabbing something important…" He popped the cap off the lube, letting the watery substance squirt onto three of his fingers. "Do you trust me?" Arthur asked, dipping his voice into a low, honest whisper.

When Alfred nodded, two decisive bobs of his head, Arthur kissed him, his fingers beginning to press and massage the muscle of Alfred's entrance. "Just relax, poppet, lovely Alfred." The first finger went in easily enough, and Alfred made a grimacing face at the strange sensation. Arthur continued murmuring honeyed words into Alfred's ear, kissing at his hair and rubbing his cock when the American tensed too much.

He worked in a second finger, watching for Alfred to give a signal to continue. Arthur tried his best to be gentle, to express the sheer feeling that caught in his throat at the sight of Alfred's flushed and pleasured face. Soon he added a third finger and began to search for Alfred's prostate, curling his fingers every which way.

"Ah – ohh!" Alfred moaned, his head falling back and exposing his neck to Arthur. "Ohh, what'd you do…? Good… Weird… but good…"

The Englishman smiled, licking Alfred's Adam's apple. "You ready for the main treat, love?" With his free hand he ripped open the box of condoms, pulling one from the box and giving Alfred a steady look. "If you don't want to, just say the word and I'll stop."

"I… I trust you, Arthur." Alfred flushed and grabbed the condom from Arthur's hands, opening it slowly and biting his lower lip nervously. "L-let me…"

Arthur tried not to groan as Alfred shyly rolled the condom onto his cock and added extra lube at the Briton's behest. Carefully he began sliding into Alfred, watching the American's face closely, pausing instantly whenever he saw even the slightest look of discomfort.

Soon he was rocking into Alfred, listening to the grunts and moans that came from his lover's parted pink lips. He felt hyposensitized. Every touch was like fire racing across his pores, every pleasured moan from Alfred made his ears ring. Arthur was constantly looking for an affirmation from Alfred that what he was doing felt good, that it was right, that he should do it again. He wanted Alfred to feel amazing, to show him that he was loved and wanted and gorgeous; because he was.

Alfred came with a strangled cry as Arthur fisted his cock, his face pinching as he breathed, "_Ah – Arthurrrr!_" into the palm of his hand, his body twitching with orgasm.

Arthur came shortly after, habitually biting back his voice, the intense heat and pleasure too much for him to handle. Tired, he collapsed onto the American's chest, breathing in deep breaths of cold air. "Did you… enjoy it?" he asked after a long comfortable silence.

"I don't think I've cum that hard in my whole life," Alfred responded after a thoughtful moment. Arthur laughed deeply, unable to help himself.

He kissed the tip of Alfred's nose, the grin that etched itself onto his face was wide and joyous; as if all the happiness he held inside could no longer be contained and was bursting forth from his mouth in the form of a shit-eating grin. Arthur never wanted this feeling to die.

- End of Chapter Thirteen -

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><p>Okay… so… it's about a thousand words longer than I had projected… and uhm… dies of embarrassment.

Thanks to **theheroandhisbrit** from tumblr for taking over for **Lucia-luce **while she's down and out. :o I wish good health to everyone~! :3


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Within

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Fourteen: Within_

_Important Notes:_John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukraine

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><p>Arthur had always been in the belief that sex ruined a relationship. Every time he'd managed to take that extra step in a relationship, sex had been the breaking factor. It always ended up being not good enough, not often enough, or the only thing they wanted in the first place. He had feared, after waking up tucked neatly under Alfred's chin that next morning that everything they had would be different; strange, gone.<p>

But instead of shying away or becoming disinterested, Alfred had woken up with a yawn, burying his face into Arthur's hair and kissing him as if it were as natural as breathing once he finally crawled his way out of bed. So naturally, he couldn't hold back the large grin that had worked its way onto his face as he made eggs and sausage for Alfred and himself. It took the American longer to finish the morning chores with his Father out of town, and Arthur had offered to help, but Alfred merely shrugged and said that it might take him a bit longer, but he was used to it.

He frowned as a couple of the sausages burned on one side, quickly flipping them over to finish cooking before tossing them onto a plate covered with a paper towel. He hoped Alfred would enjoy his efforts. Breakfast foods weren't his forte, as he normally only had tea and a scone on his way to work in the mornings, so he wasn't very confident in his cooking. And if the sausage continued to burn like this, he would have to blame the stove.

When he'd finished and had set the table for two, Arthur hesitantly pulled his mobile from the pocket of his trousers and dialed the number Alfred had given him. The shrill ring of the phone in the next room sounded off and he bit his lip, waiting a moment before the belling cut with the rushing noise of answer in his ear.

"_Hey Arthur!" _Alfred's voice sang out, _"Is it that time already?"_

Arthur nodded, and sighed when he remembered he was on the phone. "Yes, I did try and take my time. Eggs and sausage cook faster than I recall…"

Alfred chuckled. _"That's sounds so good… I'm _starving_. I'll be up in a bit!"_

They said their quick goodbyes and Arthur set about pouring himself tea and Alfred a tall glass of orange juice. After only staying with the American for a week, he'd managed to figure out most of his daily routines and habits. It was interesting, and if anything, he found that the things Alfred did on a day to day basis were adorable. There was something about discovering every tiny thread about Alfred and his personality that made Arthur giddy and happy and _excited_. Then again, he could just be a sentimental fool.

"I'm back!" Alfred called into the house, warmed by the heat of the stovetop, the heady scent of breakfast welcoming in the air. "Hmm, smells good!"

Arthur coughed lightly into his fist, trying to fight back a blush. "Ah, well, I did try…"

Alfred shed his coat and boots, left in his sweatshirt and a pair of thick, heavy-duty overalls. He sat down at the table, patting the seat next to his with a goofy grin adorning his masculine face. When Arthur took his seat, Alfred leaned over and rubbed his cold nose against Arthur's cheek. "Thank you for making breakfast!" he cooed, despite Arthur's startled protests at the sudden cold against his face.

"I…! Ah… it's the least I can do," he grumbled to the table.

Once the food had been served and the first few bites taken, Alfred's hand found Arthur's and the American chortled a bit, his cheeks blossoming into a soft blush. "Hey Arthur," he mumbled, nudging the Englishman with an elbow.

"Hm?"

Alfred's blue eyes looked over the table, resting blankly on the two empty chairs across from them. "Can you imagine this: us married… a-and kids, and every morning waking up and you know… being a _family_?" He turned an anxious grin to Arthur, squeezing his hand under the table.

Arthur blushed heavily, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Married," he repeated lowly, "That's… that's something I think I could… tolerate imagining…"

The American laughed, taking a quick moment to kiss the side of Arthur's mouth. "Tolerate? Ah, well at least you didn't completely shoot me outta the sky!" He kissed Arthur again when he was about to protest, grinning wider than before. "I know, I know. I was just gettin' your goat."

"Insufferable oaf," Arthur huffed, smiling despite his annoyance. "I love you."

"I love you too, Arthur!"

Arthur coughed and returned his eyes to the table, almost desperate for a change of topic. "How are your classes coming? Is university proving too difficult?"

Alfred shrugged, his mouth tilting to one side as he thought of an answer. "Eh, it's online so I can work on things when I have the time, but it's so easy to just put everything off until the last second!" He paused and flinched at Arthur's disapproving stare. "Not like I do that, though. Not at all. Actually, tonight I have an English paper that I gotta finish up. Wouldja mind looking it over and telling me how dumb I am? Please?"

A small chuckle bubbled from Arthur's mouth and he sipped at his tea more calmly. "I'd be delighted to."

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><p>They spent the next few days of their week together, almost as if they were playing a game of house. Arthur made breakfast while Alfred worked the mornings, occasionally helping out with the chores that the American deemed acceptable or easy enough. The days were getting bitter and cold, and often they found themselves swathed in blankets on the living room floor, holding one another and whispering childishly during commercials as they watched television specials. At night they made love on Alfred's bed, the curtains drawn back to allow moonlight to set a lovely mood. And each time they had sex, Alfred became bolder and bolder with his actions, touching, stroking and kissing in places that he once would have asked for permission to do so.<p>

Arthur could easily admit that he was content with Alfred like this; working, helping, loving.

On that Friday morning, Alfred came in from the chores early, patting his arms a bit to try and rid himself of the pre-winter chill. "Hey Arthur, after breakfast, I wanna take you somewhere. You up for it?"

Arthur paused, giving Alfred a suspicious glance. Despite his cheer, the American seemed nervous, and over the years Arthur had become a self-proclaimed master at spotting the subtle changes of Alfred's moods. "I don't see why not," he consented, flipping the last pancake onto a plate. "I take it you have somewhere particular in mind?"

"Mhm." Alfred seated himself at the table, catching Arthur's hand once the table was set and the food was served. "It's outside, so you'll have to bundle up. The wind's pretty calm today, but that cold can cut right through ya." Arthur nodded in agreement, and the conversation seemed to dry up into a brittle silence. He decided to let it be, watching Alfred bite at his lip and play with his food in anxious mannerisms.

Once they'd finished breakfast and washed the dishes, Arthur allowed himself to be bundled up into jackets, a scarf, and mittens by Alfred. "Is all this truly necessary?" Arthur asked as he shrugged his shoulders a bit to try and adjust the fit of the leather jacket.

Alfred tilted his head a bit in thought. "Maybe not, but I'd rather be safe than sorry." He zipped up his own coat and wiggled his fingers into his gloves, leading the way out of the house and to the stables. Nova was wandering around the indoor coral, a long saddle perched on her back. "C'mon!" He opened the iron barred gates, ushering Arthur through before leaving them cracked open, trotting up to Nova and adjusting her saddle and tightening the straps beneath her belly. "Dang girl, you're gettin' fat," he grumbled and Nova snorted into his hair.

"What's this all about?" Arthur questioned, slowly approaching Nova with his palm out, smiling slightly as she nickered at his fingertips.

Alfred chuckled. "We're goin' for a ride, Arthur." He grabbed Nova's reins and held her still, motioning for Arthur to climb up. "Go on! She's a good girl, it'll be fine."

Arthur hesitated, shaking his head a bit. "I… I don't know how to ride… It's… Alfred…"

The American only sighed in good humor, setting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Look, it's a double saddle, so I'll be right behind ya, okay? I won't let nothin' happen to you, I promise."

"Ah, well… if you insist…" Arthur managed to squirm his way into the saddle, taking a few tips from Alfred. He grasped the saddle horn firmly between his hands trying not to clench his legs together as he felt Nova breathe and shift beneath him. It felt so frightening and strange atop of such a large and magnificent creature. Never in his life did Arthur believe he'd find himself riding a horse, in any circumstance.

With a grace that Arthur had lacked, Alfred easily swung himself into the saddle behind Arthur, an arm on each side of the Briton's waist and a rein in each hand. "You ready?" he nearly purred into the shell of Arthur's ear, toeing open the unlocked gates once more to allow Nova through. He dug his heels into Nova's sides, laughing a bit as she danced around a bit before taking off into a trot out of the corral doors.

Arthur sat stiffly in the saddle, his fingers locking around the brass saddle horn as if his life depended on it. Alfred led Nova to a simple gate in the middle of a barbed wire fence, sliding out of the saddle to open the gate's clasp and leading Nova through by the reins. Once Alfred was back in the saddle, Nova began a light-footed canter through the drying grasses of the pasture.

"Arthur just relax," Alfred mumbled into his ear, his voice barely discernable above the low whistle of the cold wintering wind. "Just lean back…" Alfred transferred the reins into one hand, using his free one to push gently at Arthur chest until the Briton leaned into the American. Alfred was warm against his back and he sighed lightly, watching his breath mist and trail away. Humming a bit, Alfred pressed a warm, messy kiss to the shell of his ear, despite the sway of Nova's gait.

The ride remained in silence with the exception of the pounding of Nova's hooves against the frozen dirt paths and the occasional hum of pieces of songs that Arthur didn't recognize from Alfred. The leaves on the trees had all fallen, littering the ground with oranges, reds, and browns, leaving the sky open, only broken by the naked branches that stretched upwards in an almost nonsensical way.

His nose ran slightly as the chill bit at his face. Arthur pressed himself harder against Alfred for warmth, and Alfred must've sensed his discomfort because he mumbled a few apologies and reassurances that they were almost to their destination.

Soon they came to the crest of a hill and the hardwood trees grew more and more sparse, until there was just a small clearing surrounded by shorter, thin trees with light bark. Nova came to a reluctant stop, pawing at the ground in agitation as Alfred slid off the saddle and roped the reins around a tree's trunk. With a bit of help, Arthur wormed his way to the ground, straightening out his trousers and fixing his jacket as Alfred began to lead him into the clearing.

Arthur was about to ask where they were going, but then in the corner, he spotted a small tombstone of polished granite. A wreath of dried flowers clung to a corner; an old frame leaned against the granite, a faded photo within. Alfred sighed as they approached the grave, brushing the withered wreath from the tombstone. "Hey, Ma…" Alfred mumbled, taking a seat on the cold grass next to the grave. "The apple trees'll bloom again soon."

The Englishman followed suit, choosing to face the grave with his hand reaching out impulsively for one of Alfred's. He wasn't a stranger to graveyards, not since John had passed, but somehow this felt different. As if the isolation of this tombstone made it more surreal; lonely. He scanned the stenciled writing as his fingers tangled with Alfred's:

_Josephine Lynn Jones_

_Mother, Wife, Sister. She loved her Country and her "boys"._

_May the apple blossoms always bloom._

"Sorry for bringing you out here," Alfred said after a long moment. "I know… it's not the most, uhm, _romantic_ place, but… I wanted you to meet Ma… yanno?"

Arthur squeezed Alfred's hand. "No, I understand. I'm honored you wanted to bring me here. I truly am." He pressed his lips together tightly and leaned forward a bit to grab the timeworn frame, staring at the preserved photo within. "When was this taken?" he decided to ask, hoping for a neutral ground in the conversation. Arthur knew that the subject of his Mother's passing was touchy and sore for Alfred – even after all these years. Or perhaps he was the one that made it that way? He frowned.

Alfred tilted his head a little in thought, reaching out to run his fingers along the old metal frame. "Oh… I'd have to say… a long time ago." Alfred snorted. "I think I was about eleven. They were sending her overseas that week."

"I see…" Arthur looked to the photo. Josephine stood next to Alfred's father with a young Alfred on her hip. Her smile was wide on her cherubic face, framed by light brown hair, and her deep blue eyes were bright and crinkled at the edges as both Alfred Sr. and Alfred Jr. kissed her cheeks. The picture was sweet and loving, lightly bleached from sitting in the sun. "Why do you leave it out here? It's weathered…"

Alfred shrugged with one shoulder, pulling the photo from Arthur's hands gently. "I'm sure she woulda loved ya, Arthur," Alfred mumbled nostalgically. "She had a thing for accents, yanno? She was from the city, and she said Pa had an amazing accent, but I dunno about that."

The Englishman smiled at that. "Oh, I think it's a decent accent. And yes I do believe you have one. It's a very relaxed way of speaking, I think. I can understand the allure." Arthur's smile deepened when Alfred scoffed. "By the by, have I ever mentioned that this weather here is dreadful? England has its cold, but this wind..." He sniffed loudly as if to make a point, pulling up the collar of his jacket further in attempts to shield his face.

"You're right, shoot. Sorry I forget that you're not as dressed as I am." Alfred placed the photo back against the tombstone, standing up and pausing in hesitation. Slowly he pulled out a wrinkled, white envelope from the pocket of his jacket and tucked it under the metal picture frame. "Thanks for coming with me, Arthur," the American said softly. "I can't get Pa to come out with me, and Matt comes when he's here, but it's just nice to have company. I'm a hundred percent sure that Ma woulda loved everything about you - just like I do. And I'm sure Pa only has nice things ta say about you, too. But... I don't even know what I was going to say or anything... I guess I'm just ramblin' again, sorry."

Arthur chuckled in the back of his throat, standing up with a shiver. "I'm not sure, either. How about this, then? I love you, Alfred F. Jones Jr."

Alfred grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets and staring down at Arthur with a bright gleam in his blue, blue eyes. "I love ya too, Arthur James Kirkland!" He let his chin fall onto Arthur's shoulder, his back hunching as he did so. "I love you so damn much; I dunno what to even do with myself."

"To start, you could bring me back to the warm house. That would be delightful."

They both shared a quick laugh as Alfred rubbed his cold nose against Arthur's, the apples of their cheeks a healthy pink from the nipping winter, agreeing to take him back home to warm his toes and fingers.

Nova's breath fogged into the winter air as Arthur helped Alfred brush her down after their return, the rubber horse brush cupped into his palm as he meekly rubbed at her flanks. The sweat that had accumulated beneath her saddle steamed and Alfred wiped at it with a small towel, following up by strokes with a bristled brush. "You can head on to the house," Alfred told him with a nod of his head. "I got it from here." When Arthur seemed reluctant, he added, "Could you make hot-coco? That's always amazing after being out in the cold all day!"

"Ah, right! I can do that..." He set the rubber comb down on the dummy that Alfred had laid out all of Nova's tack and equipment on. Feeling somewhat odd he started for the house, his cold hands tucked deep into the pockets of his loaned jacket. But before he could leave the corral where Nova was hitched up to cool, Alfred rushed to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and giving him a quick kiss on his chin.

"Thank you, Arthur!" He flashed a smile, sticking his hands into Arthur's pockets to squeeze the Briton's hands. "Seriously, thank you."

Arthur felt his face flush, his numb cheeks tingling with sensation. "It's nothing, poppet. Happy to help." After that, he left with a lighter step to his walk, the elated feeling of being needed and useful driving him forward through the cold.

* * *

><p><strong>[Matticus]<strong>

**Hey they say your weather is getting bad down there. Do you have a forecast for your t-day weekend?**

**[Message received 3:33PM]**

Alfred wrinkled his nose at the text, turning on the T.V. with a push of a button. Arthur was napping on the couch next to him, having spent most of the late morning helping Alfred lay fresh hay in the feed barn. Alfred decided to let him sleep, seeing as Arthur wasn't as used to manual labor.

He flipped through the channels until he came across the only channel dedicated to weather. Alfred watched solemnly as the newscaster droned on methodically about the forecast for the entire nation (like he cared about Louisiana's sunshine) before it finally turned over to local weather.

"_This week will be cold, snowy and wet. There's a forecast of three to four inches of snow on Monday, with icy flurries beginning Sunday night at around ten p.m. Be advised: stay off the roads if at all possible; if you're out to shop, go early and bring your patience."_

**[Me]**

**They're not saying anything about tday. But we got snwstorms comin. itll look just like canada for you!**

**[Message sent 3:49PM]**

**[Matticus]**

**Oh haha. Btw, Katya says hi even though she really didn't, but she did, trust me.**

**[Message received 3:50PM]**

Arthur sighed through his nose, announcing to Alfred that he was finally conscious from his nap. "Good morning sunshine!" Alfred teased, pulling at a wayward tuft of Arthur's bed head, earning a grumble and a swat from the half awake Briton.

"What time is it?" Arthur slurred, rubbing at his face and sitting up.

**[Me]**

**I havent even met her, y would i say hi back? and hi kat... Art says hi even tho he didnt, but he did.**

**[Message sent 3:52 PM]**

"It's almost four. You feeling better? You were out like a light." He wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulder as the Englishman nodded and leaned against him with a yawn. "By the way, Pa should be home soon... I thought he was gunna come home this morning, so I'm kinda worried that he's not back yet."

Arthur gave a tiny sigh. "Drop him a ring, then."

Alfred shook his head, his hand rubbing Arthur's arm in a comforting, circular motion. "He doesn't have a cell phone. I wonder if he heard about the snow that's comin' and stopped at the store while he's outta town."

"There's snow coming? How much? When will it get here?" he asked, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the light of the living room. It didn't snow often in England, and when it did… Arthur sighed. He recalled Alfred telling him of mounds of snow taller than his head before, and it was a rather exciting thought.

Sleepily Arthur pressed his face against Alfred's, leaving dry kisses on the American's skin. "Hmm, they're saying a few inches for now. Nothing too bad..." Alfred happily returned the kisses, humming with contentment as Arthur folded his hands behind his neck. "You're real lovey all a sudden, ain't ya?"

Arthur gave a limp shrug. "I missed you."

"You were only asleep for a coupla hours! How can ya miss me?" Despite the absurdity of Arthur's words, he still felt a warm tug at his chest and he touched his lips to Arthur's gently. Arthur only sighed in response and pulled himself closer to Alfred. "Arthur...?" Alfred managed to question as the Briton crawled into his lap.

"I didn't mean while I was sleeping, you twit," Arthur huffed, his fingers dancing across Alfred's clothes and picking at the buttons of his flannel shirt. "I meant while we were apart. How did we even manage, I wonder?"

Alfred smiled, cupping the side of Arthur's face in his palm. "Imma risk saying something dumb, but I think it's 'coz we love each other and we don't let nothin' get in our way. Not even how stupid I am or how far apart we live."

Arthur leaned into Alfred's warm hand, one of his own coming up to cover and cradle it. "I love you," he whispered, his green eyes half-lidded.

There wasn't time for him to respond before Arthur's lips were on his, kissing and teasing him, his fingers working on the buttons of his shirt. They quickly fell into a messy routine that they'd begun to pick up during their nights alone; touching spots that they had discovered made the other moan. Arthur let Alfred pull his sweater vest over his head, hurriedly undoing the buttons of his shirt as Alfred unzipped the front of his trousers. "Arthur... Arthur, can I...?"

The rest went unsaid, silent words drifting between the two of them as they regarding each other. Finally Arthur gave a shallow nod, allowing Alfred to push him into the cushions of the couch and tower over him. Cautiously Alfred worked open Arthur's trousers, as Arthur pinched at his exposed nipples. It was almost overwhelming, the feeling that surged through Alfred's ribs. Seeing Arthur beneath him, loving and strong, it made Alfred want to protect him - to cherish and please him.

He pulled Arthur's cock from his underwear, stroking and rubbing, being sure to lick his thumb before running the pad of his finger across the slit. Arthur began to flush, his eyes tearing with pleasure as he bucked up wantonly into Alfred's palm. Arthur's breaths began to come out in heady pants, mumbling a few nonsensical words as he came closer and closer to his climax.

Alfred tipped his head down, catching Arthur in a loving kiss. He was about to nudge his tongue past Arthur's lips when there was a stiff clatter and he jerked his head up, his heart stopping in his chest and his stomach jumping into his throat. Arthur hiccupped slightly, sexually frustrated and worried as the color drained from his lover's face. "Alfred...?"

Arthur tore his eyes away from Alfred's pallid face to glance out the window that the American was looking out. "Bloody hell..." he whispered, aghast, as he caught sight of Alfred's father in the window, his blue eyes wide and a bag of groceries in one arm.

Alfred's hand slackened its grip around his dying erection, and almost simultaneously they attempted to make themselves decent. "Wait, Pa!" Alfred shouted as his father turned and headed back the way he came. Alfred ran out of the house, uncaring that his shirt was opened half-way and his socks were getting covered in mud and dewy grass and that it was sub-zero outdoors. "_Pa_!"

Arthur stood in the doorway, the frozen winter air piercing through his muddled clothing. He felt awful; detached, watching Alfred chase his father to the truck, gesticulating wildly, a rush of words that Arthur could hear pouring from his mouth. He didn't know what he was supposed to do other than stand and watch as if two trains were about to come to a head-on collision. He pulled his shirt about himself tighter and closed his eyes. What was he supposed to do?

-_ End of Chapter Fourteen_ -

* * *

><p>Ugh, ugh, ugh, ughh… I was <em>not <em>looking forward to writing this part and it prolly shows. D: I'm just going to… go over there and cry. :T


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Beyond

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Fifteen: Beyond_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukraine

* * *

><p>"Pa would you just <em>stop<em>!" Alfred shouted as he firmly planted himself between his father and the truck. "Please just listen to what I gotta say. Please."

His father stopped walking, his stance tight and protective. His blue eyes bore into Alfred's, his lips trembling in what Alfred figured might be rage. "An' just _what _wouldja like to tell me? 'Coz I'm pretty sure I can come up with a few things on my own!"

Alfred sighed through his nose, reaching out to grasp his father's shoulders and thinking better of it. "Pa… I – I'm gay." He choked a bit and stepped back. "I wanted to tell ya sooner and this is the worst… I can't… I didn't mean for ya to find out like this… B-but I _love _Arthur and I have for years!"

A long, trembling breath escaped through Alfred Sr.'s lips. "I… see. Who all knows?"

"Father Feli, Mr. Carriedo, Toris and his parents, Arthur's family, and Matthew… that's it. That's it Pa…"

Alfred's shoulders slumped as a tense silence formed between the three of them, Arthur watching the entire exchange from his spot in the doorway, his heart beating far too fast and his knees felt incredibly weak. "Jus'… get the groceries," Alfred's father said at long last. "I'm goin' to the bar with Gil. I'll be home before the storm. Need ta think."

Arthur scurried from the doorway, ignoring the world around him as he bent down to pick up the sack of groceries that had been dropped to the ground upon Alfred Sr.'s discovery. Alfred couldn't even bring himself to protest his father's choice and instead they mechanically did as they were told, unloading the truck-bed of groceries, sending each other nervous and apologetic glances as they moved back and forth.

When they were finished, Alfred's father ducked back into the truck and Alfred ran up next to it, knocking feverishly on the window until it was rolled down. "Pa, you're really going to be with Gilbert, right? If I call him he'll tell me you're with him, right?"

"Alfred…" His pa sighed, gripping at the steering wheel tightly. His blue eyes – almost identical to Alfred's, yet somehow subdued in their enthusiasm, sad almost – fell onto Arthur in the doorway, blinking a couple of times before glancing back to Alfred. "We can make our own choices, son."

Alfred stepped away from the truck with a frown, watching as his father drove away. Arthur watched as the American pulled his mobile from his pocket, calling who he presumed was Gilbert, and began speaking quietly, pacing the length of the driveway back and forth until his call was finished.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said as soon as Alfred returned inside, shutting the door behind himself. "This is my fault; I should've listened to you. Alfred I'm so truly sorry…" He reached out to touch the American's face, only to find himself caught off guard as Alfred swooped down and gathered him into his strong arms, holding him tight and secure. Arthur pressed his cheek against Alfred's, stroking his fingers through Alfred's hair that tickled at the back of his neck. "Poppet…?"

Something warm and wet touched his ear and Arthur recoiled as Alfred hiccupped. The American's face was pinched and red as tears crawled down the curves of his face. "Oh, poppet, my sweet, my love…" He wiped at Alfred's face, twining his hand into that of his lover's and pulled him towards Alfred's bedroom.

"Ar-Arthur," he coughed, falling onto the bed and pulling the Briton down with him. "Arthur, what if something happens to him?" He hupped, pulling his glasses from his face to wipe at his eyes. "Arthur it'll be all _my _fault!"

Arthur made a few hushing noises, wrapping his arms around Alfred's head and pulling him close to his chest. "Hush now, love. You did what you could. I'm assuming you called Gilbert?"

Alfred nodded against his chest, sniffing and clutching at Arthur's shirt. "Y-yeah, but Arthur… w-what if –"

"Alfred! Relax, don't fret now. It'll help nothing." He rubbed the crown of Alfred's head, using his other hand to trace soothing circles in the expanse between his shoulder blades. "Just relax, love. It's alright. Everything will be alright…"

The American gave a shuddering sigh, his hot breath tickling at Arthur's neck. "I'm so sorry… so, so sorry…" Arthur only clucked his tongue, mumbling nonsense words under his breath as he continued to stroke at and pet his lover, waiting until the American's breath settled evenly with only the occasional hiccup. He felt that this was somehow his fault - it had to have been. He shouldn't have pushed Alfred for sex like he had. He should have noticed the warning signs, but he'd been blinded by sleep, lust, happiness - whatever it had been. He had been a complete fool.

Alfred curled up against him and he wanted nothing more than to protect the poor, lovely creature in his arms. "I got you into this," he murmured into the still room, feeling trapped and small all at once. "I'll help you out of it - no matter the cost, my love."

* * *

><p>Alfred woke several hours later; the room was dark with the setting of the sun. Arthur had fallen asleep next to him, his arms still wrapped about his shoulders. His chest felt heavy and his head as if it was filled with smoke, but he couldn't bring himself to simply go back to sleep like his lethargic body told him to. Instead he found himself staring at Arthur's sleeping face, his brows furrowed and expression slightly distraught.<p>

He touched the side of Arthur's face gently. "I'm not gunna lose you over this," he whispered, mostly to himself.

With a loud buzz Alfred's cell phone went off, and he struggled to pull it from the pocket of his pants without stirring Arthur from his sleep. "Hello?" he grumbled as he pressed the device to his ear, shifting upwards so that way he could tuck Arthur's head beneath his chin.

"Hey Al, that you? You doing alright over there?" Gilbert's voice was thick and static over the phone and Alfred perked up at the sound. "Your dad told me what happened..."

Alfred sighed long and hard. "Yeah, we're okay... a little shaken... Gil, h-how is Pa? Is he okay? He's gunna be alright, ain't he?" He barely registered the fact that he was trembling with fear and worry, he hardly noticed when wide, soft circles were being rubbed into his back, calming and soothing at him.

Gilbert coughed. "I think... he took the uh, well, _news_, I guess, pretty okay - considering. I mean... okay, so he's pretty wasted, I'm not going to lie to you, so I'm keeping him over at my place until the storm blows over." There was a pause. "And can I just say, I'm a little surprised at you, Al. Not for being gay - Antonio's a cool dude, but why'd you wait? That's kinda... I won't push it anymore. Just... when he gets home, make sure he's okay with everything, okay?"

"Yeah," Alfred breathed out, "I will, I promise and... and can you tell him I said I'm sorry? I mean I know he's... not in the right mind but... please?"

"Yeah, I can do it. Sure. You guys stay inside - they say the storms only gunna get worse tonight."

Alfred nodded and mumbled his agreement before hanging up the phone, tossing it on the blankets somewhere by his legs.

Arthur shifted in Alfred's arms, his lithe fingers continuing their ministrations on the tense muscles of his lower back. "Is everything alright, love?" he asked, his voice scratchy from fitful sleep and dry air.

They shared a small, quiet moment, simply holding one another, wordlessly allowing their worry and anxiety to communicate inside tight hugs and jittery strokes of hands and fingers.

"I think... everything might... be okay," Alfred said after a few minutes. "Pa's gunna stay with Gil for the night - the storm is gettin' bad, so we got time to figure all this out, I guess."

Arthur's hands stilled. "What's there to figure out?" He pulled away from Alfred with a frown, his green eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I love you, you love me, that's all that counts, right?"

Alfred's eyes went wide. "O-of course! What're you talkin' about? Arthur what... I just meant like, cleaning the couch and figuring out how I'm gunna tell Pa properly and Arthur... what on earth were you thinking I was gunna say?"

"What?" Arthur's face flushed and his brows furrowed even further. "Y-you're the one that made it sound like you were... were..." he trailed off suddenly, pulling his hands from Alfred's back to cover his face.

"Arthur? Arthur, what's wrong?" Alfred pulled Arthur's hands away from the Briton's face, holding them to his chest as he locked eyes with his lover. "Arthur..."

A strangled sob made clawed its way out of Arthur's throat and he closed his eyes before saying, "I apologize, Alfred. I-I honestly... it sounded as if - i-if you wanted to end it with me. I r-ruined what little you have left with your father... a-and I can understand if you want nothing from me. I'm so very, truly, sorry, Alfred."

Alfred sighed and bundled the crying Englishman into his arms. "Arthur... I'd never leave you. Never. And never for a reason as stupid as this. If Pa don't approve, then he can find someone else to give the ranch to. I'll go to school to be a physicist and make a shit ton of money and we can live in Mexico or some shit, okay? There's always options, I love you too much to just leave you. I love you. Don't cry, I'm sorry. Please don't cry."

Arthur heaved heavy, lulling breaths, pushing his face into Alfred's chest and blinking rapidly until his eyes felt dry enough. "I don't understand how you can still love me after all this... noise and rubbish."

"How can I not?" Alfred responded lightly, rubbing his nose against Arthur's. "And you still love me, right?" When Arthur nodded, a smile twitching onto his lips, Alfred grinned, kissing the Briton's forehead softly. They laid in bed for a few comforting minutes when a stray thought crossed Alfred's mind and he blurted,

"Hey, Pa saw your junk."

"_Alfred Franklin Jones I will kill you!_" was the only thing he heard before being kicked out of the bed and started running, holding back tears of laughter.

* * *

><p>The storm outside grew progressively worse as the days went by. The clouds hung low and gray over the land, and if it wasn't snowing, they were busy trying to shovel what had accumulated from the door to the barns.<p>

"I thought you said that the news caster predicted only four inches of this?" Arthur asked incredulously, three days after the initial storm had hit. The storm itself had tapered off gently, leaving over a foot of snow in its wake. Arthur stood on the porch in a pair of borrowed boots and jacket, a short, flat shovel in his gloved hands as he surveyed the endless white blanket that spread across the ground and glittered in the faint sunlight.

Alfred looked up from where he was shoveling the path towards the horse barn, standing up and stretching. "Ah, well the forecast was for the city that's about... a three hour drive from here. Weather's a bit vague for us since hardly anyone lives here. Four inches, one foot - same difference if ya ask me." He grinned and sent Arthur a thumbs up.

The past few days had been better for them. Alfred had started speaking to his father over the phone, sitting at the table with Arthur's hand clenched in his with steaming cups of tea or cocoa before them. "Everything will be okay" slowly melted into, "Everything is okay."

"I find there to be a sufficiently large difference between four inches and twelve - namely eight inches of blasted snow." He huffed, watching as his breath fogged and nearly iced in the cold. "And by the by, how is your father? He's alright still, is he not?"

Alfred nodded swiftly. "Yeah, he's got one of Gilbert's trucks and he's helpin' out with the plowing so people can get around. We don't got no city officials or nothing so we gotta do it all ourselves." He shrugged and glanced at the house. "Aw shit, I'm gunna need to sweep the roof, too."

Arthur blinked. "Sweep... the roof...?"

"Yeah, shit, 'specially the feed barn, the roof is already weak." He let out a rather put-upon sigh and chuckled. "No one said it was easy, Arthur."

"Nothing's ever easy, you twat," he grumbled in response, flexing his fingers in his gloves, hoping to return feeling into them. He didn't mind the snow at all. It was beautiful, serene, awe inspiring, even. But the cold that came with it... He cursed under his breath and began shoveling once again.

Alfred laughed, stomping his feet and sticking his shovel into a drift. "Okay, how about a break? I forgot what toes feel like."

Arthur agreed shortly and rushed inside, loving the way the warmth of the home seemed to wrap around him in an embrace. He pulled off his gloves and too big snow-boots, before padding over to the kitchen to fetch the teapot. As he turned on the faucet, watching with a worried frown as the water spit a bit before turning on full force, he wondered what was taking the American so long. But his fears were set aside when Alfred burst inside, his mobile tucked against his ear, red with cold.

"Oh? Okay so you're gunna stay in Omaha and wait for him?" He paused in the doorway, using the small cast-iron shoe horn by the door to remove his boots. "Yeah, I guess that'd be better than tryin' to make the whole trip in one go in this kinda weather. Mhmm. Okay. So you guys'll be back on Wednesday night? 'Kay. We should have everything shoveled out by then. Alrighty, I'll talk to ya later, Pa. A-and... stay safe! Bye."

He hung up and set his mobile on the kitchen table. "That was Pa," he said needlessly, shrugging of his coat and draping it over the back of a chair. "He's going to the airport early to pick up Matt. Apparently they got less snow over there, so he's gunna check into a hotel. Gilbert should be over sometime tomorrow to plow the whole driveway. So, that gives us today, tomorrow and most of Wednesday to get all that snow cleared. It shouldn't take us that long."

Arthur set the kettle on the stove; turning on the gas and watching the fire bounce up before leaning back to look at Alfred. "I'm glad you're on better terms with your father now," he said slowly, frowning a bit as he fought for the correct words, "But I do wish he'd come back to the house. It's... worrisome."

"I know," Alfred sighed out reaching out and laying his arms on Arthur's shoulders. "But I don't wanna push him or nothing. I mean... if he's not drinking, then I'm happy."

"I understand." He rubbed his hands distractedly together, grumbling about the cold and how he might never be warm again. "Well, have you plans for our days alone in this frozen wasteland? I'm sure everything will be delightfully awkward when your father does return."

Alfred snorted, rubbing his nose against Arthur's still cold face as he was fond to do. "Aww, it won't be too bad with Matt here. And he really wants to meet you, yanno? And he has a way with calmin' Pa down." Suddenly he got a devious look in his eyes and snatched up Arthur's cold hands. "Still cold?" he asked innocently enough.

Arthur hesitated, debating whether or not he should take what was so obviously bait or pull his hands away. Finally he conceded and mumbled, "Yes, of course. This chill seems to never leave..."

"Well, I know one sure-fire way to get warm," Alfred teased, kissing Arthur impishly.

The Englishman blushed heavily. "Al - Alfred... just what do you think you're doing...?"

Alfred only smiled, pressing his cold face against Arthur's. "Oh, nothing..." he mumbled, his hands reaching for the zipper of Arthur's coat and pulling it down. Arthur swallowed heavily, his eyes never leaving Alfred's. Every moment he spent with the American like this felt intense; as if his world simply melted away from around him and all that was left was Alfred and Alfred's hands and his breath and his everything. "I was just gunna suggest you take a shower is all."

Arthur visibly deflated and swatted away Alfred's hands. "You complete tosser," he grumbled, pulling the tea kettle from the fire, despite the fact that it wasn't even ready. He didn't want tea any more. "I can't believe you." Arthur crossed his arms and glared at the snickering Alfred. He sighed in defeat and sat at the table, pulling up his feet to rub at them.

"Oh, I have a better idea," Alfred said, pulling at Arthur to sit on the couch, making the Briton grumble before actually going along with Alfred and settling himself onto the couch. Alfred sat on the floor in front of him, taking a foot between his hands and beginning to kneed into the arch of Arthur's foot. "Sorry, I didn't realize your feet were sore, Arthur."

Arthur bit his lower lip, blushing and looking away. "O-oh... W-well that feels... _heavenly_, but you don't have to. I'm sure I'll be just fine on my own." A small moan tapered from his mouth as Alfred massaged at a sore muscle.

"You seem to be enjoying it," the American sang out, continuing his work.

They sat in a comfortable silence, with only exception being an occasional mewls from Arthur. "Actually, poppet, I have a question that's been weighing on my mind for quite some time," Arthur said once Alfred seemed to grow bored of massaging and simply began rubbing his hands over Arthur's feet.

"Yeah? What's up?" He held Arthur's ankles, staring up at him with a gentle smile that made Arthur's heart want to melt directly into Alfred's arms.

Arthur coughed lightly into a fist. "This might seem out of the blue, but I remember once you told me that you were looking for... "the one" before losing your virginity... and ah... doesn't that normally involve... _marriage_ of sorts?"

Alfred blinked up at him, blinking in confusion before his face split into his dimple deepened smile. "Oh! Well that's true. But, well, I figured since I had found _the one_, why should I wait? I didn't wanna miss my chance." He waited for Arthur to scoff and blush, to deny that he could be "the one", before leaning upwards, wrapping his arms around the Briton's waist. "Arthur, I consider you to be my one and only - no matter how much you deny it. And... and even if this whole thing doesn't work out - which it will - there will never be another one like you. And that is the truth."

"Poppet..." Arthur ran his hand through Alfred's hair, fighting back the goofy smile that he knew wanted to take over his face. "Dearest Alfred... I love you."

Alfred grinned, his eyes nearly sparkling with joy, his hands climbed up Arthur's back and he asked, low, sultry, "Arthur, can I show you how much I love you?"

Speechless, Arthur cupped Alfred's face into his hands, looking hard into those beautifully blue eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," Alfred responded after a moment. "This may be the last chance we get while you're here. I don't wanna waste it - not even a second."

Arthur's heart seemed to flutter in his chest, both happy and anxious at once. Finally he gave a nod and Alfred stood, picking him up off the sofa with an ease that Arthur struggled to comprehend as he wrapped his legs about the American's waist. "Alfred," he breathed, touching kisses to his face and neck as Alfred brought them into his bedroom, setting Arthur on the bed gingerly and kissing him soundly.

"Arthur, I love you so damn much..." Alfred's voice was beginning to grow husky as he pulled at Arthur's clothes, stroking pale skin as it was exposed, as if he'd never seen it before in his life. "I can't even... no words are right..."

"I understand, love," he breathed, fumbling with the heavy overalls that Alfred wore to keep out the winter chill. "I honestly do."

Clothes were shed slowly, meticulously, piling together on the floor as they kissed and touched with feather-like embraces and crushing kisses. Alfred scrounged the box of condoms and the lube from under his bed, setting them next to Arthur on the bed. He smiled, letting the pads of his fingers trace nonsense patterns into Arthur's naked skin. "You're gorgeous, Arthur, ya really are. I almost can't believe you're gunna let me..." He smiled again and pressed his lips to one of Arthur's pert nipples. "I'll protect you," he mumbled against the flesh, licking at it before pulling away.

Arthur reached out, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck and easing him down; their naked bodies flush together and needy. "Show me your love, Alfred."

Nodding, Alfred grabbed the lube, slicking up his fingers and adjusting himself over Arthur, placing open mouthed kisses along his neck as his fingers gently probed at Arthur's entrance. "Please tell me if I hurt you," he said as he pushed in the first finger, his breath hot against Arthur's now moist skin.

"Promise," Arthur struggled to say, his head falling back at the once familiar sensation of being penetrated. "O-ohh! Alfred, I love you!" he blustered when Alfred's finger brushed across his prostate. He spread his legs wider, uncaring that he may have looked like a wanton whore. He wanted more, and there was little he could do about it, but to display it.

Another finger was added, and another after that. Alfred watched his face intensely, waiting for even the slightest looks of pain or discomfort. Arthur did his best to keep his face at a flushed pleasure, pushing back onto Alfred's fingers whenever he paused. "A-Alfred... you can... mmm, put it in now. I won't break."

Alfred pulled his fingers out, watching Arthur sit up and grab a condom from the package. "I know you won't break," he argued as Arthur began rolling the latex onto his cock, taking the lube and rubbing a generous amount on.

"Then prove it and make love to me, Alfred." Arthur lay back down on the bed, resting his arms above his head and wearing what he hoped was a seductive look. It must have worked, because before he knew it, Alfred was on him, weaving their fingers together and kissing at his face as he slowly pushed inside of him. "_Alfred..."_

The American started out slowly, seeming more occupied with lavishing Arthur than pleasing himself. His thrusts were shallow, almost unsure, testing angles and the sheer feel of it all. Alfred groaned, dropping his head onto Arthur's shoulder. "It's so... hnn, _tight_. Shit..." Experimentally he thrust up into Arthur, eliciting a gasp from the Briton. "There?" he asked in a small voice; smiling, reassured, when Arthur nodded and moaned.

Alfred, with Arthur's sweet spot in mind, began to set a quickening pace, the sound of their sweaty skin slapping together in the quiet house. Arthur's hand snaked between them and he fondled himself as he neared his climax, muttering Alfred's name over and over until he came on their stomachs.

Alfred pressed close, panting through his nose as his thrusts became frantic as he pushed for his own climax, coming with a moan of Arthur's name before falling onto the man in question, unable to support himself on twitching limbs.

"I love you so much, Arthur," Alfred heaved out, rolling off Arthur and pulling the Englishman close.

Arthur smiled gently, sated and happier than he could ever imagine. "I know, Alfred. I know."

* * *

><p>Arthur stood over the stove, stirring a pot of greens as a roast cooked in the oven below. Alfred was outside, finishing up on chores despite the early night that had settled in over the sky. His mobile went off on the counter next to him, and he sighed, wishing that Francis would stop texting him already.<p>

**[Frog]**

**You dont understand mon ami! She was perfect, round curves and eyes like passion. How could she not call me back? I am irresistible! **

**[Message received 7:45 PM]**

Arthur grimaced.

**[Arthur]**

**People don't have passion coloured eyes. And do stop drinking. If I find my flat a mess, she'll not want to call you back for other reasons.**

**[Message sent 7:46 PM]**

The front door squeaked open, and Alfred let himself inside, stomping snow from his boots and smiling nervously. "Hey! Pa should be here any minute now. How's dinner comin' along?"

Arthur gestured at the stove below. "Just waiting for the roast is all. I'm assuming you don't want to set the table until all parties are accounted for?"

"Yeah, that'd prolly be best. I just hope everything goes well..." Alfred shifted in his spot wearily, stuffing his hands in his pockets and glancing outside. "It can't be all that bad, right?"

Arthur did his best to smile reassuringly. "Everything will sort itself out in the end, poppet."

"I sure hope you're right..."

The room fell silent with the exception of the beeping of Arthur's mobile, which he chose to ignore. Francis could impose his pity party elsewhere as far as he was concerned at the moment.

Finally after minutes of waiting and fretting quietly, headlights could be spotted making their way towards the house, bright against the country darkness. Arthur's heart beat painfully in his chest as Alfred rushed outside to meet the old yellow truck. His grip on the ladle turned harsh and his knuckles whitened. Everything would be okay, everything is okay.

The front door opened loudly, re-introducing Alfred into the house, speaking animatedly with another man who looked strikingly similar to the Jones'.

"And this is Arthur!" Alfred was saying, pushing the other blond into the kitchen and towards Arthur. "Arthur this is my cousin, Matthew! He's the one that wanted to meet you!"

Arthur straightened his posture, holding out his hand and smiling politely. "Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you, Matthew. Alfred's talked about you for years."

Matthew smiled, it was demure, yet strong, his white teeth straight behind his softly curved mouth. "You too, Arthur. He talks about you every other breath. Glad we finally got to meet, eh?"

The Englishman nodded, unsure how to feel about Matthew's accent, but he took Matthew's hand all the same, trying to match the pressure the Canadian put into the handshake.

This was going to be an interesting weekend indeed.

- End of Chapter Fifteen -

* * *

><p>Thank you guys so much! ;A; I'm still trying to respond to all the reviews (I'm terrible at keeping up with you guys, but I'll get there!) So if I haven't responded yet, I will! :) Thank you, thank you, and thank you a million times over! :3<p> 


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Astray

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Sixteen: Astray_

_Important Notes: _John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukraine

* * *

><p>Arthur smiled tensely. Matthew's handshake was strong and rather forthcoming. "A pleasure to meet you, surely," he said once the Canadian had dropped his hand.<p>

"I'm glad to finally meet you!" Matthew put his hands on his hips, tilting his head a bit as if to inspect Arthur with his deep blue eyes. Arthur was amazed at how one eye color could take on so many variations. "Oh, and this is my girlfriend, Katya," he said, stepping aside to reveal a rather wealthily endowed woman, a curled fist to her mouth as she pressed her knuckles against her lower lip in worry. "This is her first time in the U.S. so please be nice."

Katya gave Matthew a questionable look, seeming much like a frightened kitten of sorts. Gently Arthur extended his hand to Katya, "Hello, I'm Arthur Kirkland. This is my first time across the Atlantic as well. Ah… do you like it so far?"

Cautiously Katya took his hand and shook softly. "O-oh, hello. You must be Alfred's b-ahh… his friend?" She coughed lightly. "Sorry, my English… gets away from me – Matthew is that the right way to say that?" Matthew gave a light shrug and Katya sighed. "My home is in the Ukraine, but I live in Canada now to study. America seems no different than what I am used to. But it is very… wide? In this place – the countryside is very nice."

"It is…" Arthur pulled awkwardly at his sweater vest, catching Alfred speaking in low tones to his father in the next room. He hoped everything would be okay between the two of them. The oven dinged, announcing that the roast had finished, and he reached for the oven door at the same time as Matthew, both men pausing in confusion. "Ah… the roast is… finished."

Matthew chuckled lightly. "I'm sorry, I'm just so used to doing a lot in the kitchen, I didn't even think." He moved to the cabinets, pulling out plates and glasses, handing them to Katya and pointing to the table. "Do you like cooking?" Matthew asked when he noticed Arthur's gaze trailing towards the living room.

Arthur blinked, setting the roast on the stovetop with a sigh. "I admit I much prefer to bake, and I've only cooked for myself for such a long time, so I'm leery of how this meal will be. I've never cooked for this many people…"

"I'm sure it will be delicious," Katya offered, her fingers tracing over the lip of a cup nervously. "A thoughtful meal is… the best kind, I think."

"I agree." Matthew went to the refrigerator to pull out the milk, his head tilting towards the living room as if listening, before shaking his head. "Let's go ahead and start without them, alright? They'll join us soon enough."

Arthur wasn't entirely sure about the idea, his hands folding together as the voices in the next room slowly began to rise in decibel. He poured himself a cup of tea and frowned. "If you insist," he mumbled agreeably. Matthew began cutting the roast with strong, even strokes of a knife as Katya sat down, tittering to herself as she looked about the kitchen, taking in the decorations and hominess of it all.

The food was served in a slow, terse silence. Matthew's shoulders drew into a tight line as he set out the loaded plates. He set a hand on Katya's shoulder as a shout of; "Dammit, _listen _to me!" erupted from the next room. "Katya, why don't you go down stairs for a moment? The door's just over there – go ahead and check out the computer, okay?"

Katya nodded reluctantly, standing up and casting her blue eyes over towards the next room. Matthew gave her a small kiss and sent her away, frowning at nothing in particular when the basement door shut behind her. "This is really getting out of hand," he said, pushing his rounded glasses up the bridge of his nose. Matthew shot Arthur a look. "I don't think you've ever seen our family fights," he started, wincing a bit when Alfred yelled senselessly in frustration, "They can get… loud."

"With Alfred's big mouth, I'm unsurprised." Matthew quirked a strained smile and Arthur followed behind him as he crept towards the living room. Both Alfred Jr. and Alfred Sr. were standing, their faces furrowed and red with their growing anger. Part of Arthur was frightened at the scene. These were two very, very capable men, coupled with the near electrifying atmosphere. Arthur cringed.

"And so what? The Jones line ends with you? Just because you'd rather… rather marry a _man_?" Alfred Sr. bellowed, gripping at his dirty blond hair. "I might as well sign the land over to the government right now!"

Alfred's arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed as he snorted indigently. "That has _nothing_ to do with it, and you know it! There are options, Pa! It's not like I haven't thought about it! I'm not bein' stupid or irrational or… _whatever_!"

"If you were so _rational_, then you would understand that a _woman _is what's proper for a _family_."

Alfred tensed at his father's outburst, he breathed slowly and said, in a low, tired voice, "And what would Ma say if she heard you say that?"

It was as if an obvious line had been drawn in the argument and Alfred Sr. took a step closer to his son. "Your mother has nothing to do with this," he hissed.

"Oh really? Well, since havin' a kid is all that matters to you, here's a question! Wouldja still have married her if she was sterile? Wouldja have married her knowing she couldn't give birth? Knowin' that she would _die _– umph!" Alfred's teeth clicked together at the hit to his face, and he hunched down.

Alfred Sr. breathed heavily, staring at his curled fist with a look of belated horror as Alfred cupped his cheek, his face pointed down the ground. "Don't you ever speak about Jo like that again," Alfred's father mumbled; his voice was shaking and weak. "She was a beautiful woman and I loved her."

The moment was broken when Alfred Sr. turned and began to flee. Arthur, with nothing but worry coursing through his veins, rushed to Alfred's side, closing his hand over Alfred's. Matthew quickly followed his uncle outside, running his hands through his hair and biting his lower lip as he closed the front door shut tightly.

"Alfred, poppet… dearest… Are you alright?" Alfred nodded silently, refusing to look at him despite his tender touches and soft words. "Love, look at me."

"Why do you keep doing that?" Alfred asked stiffly, turning his eyes further from Arthur.

Arthur paused, cupping his hands around Alfred's face. "Doing what, poppet?"

"That. Calling me those cute names and shit. I ain't cute – you just saw it yourself. I'm just a big stupid idiot." He heaved a shaky sigh, beginning to pull his face from Arthur's hands. "You shouldn't want nothin' to do with me."

Arthur frowned, annoyed, pinching his fingers to Alfred's ears, none too gently, to get him to stay still. "Alfred, you twit," he said exhaustively. "I don't expect you to be the perfect human." He breathed in deep through his nose. "No one is perfect, love. We all get angry. We all do stupid things. We all regret… And I'll continue to call you whatever I please, and don't you dare correct me. Now, do be a good dear and let me see your face. I want to see your eyes."

Alfred slouched further, thought better of it, and slowly brought his eyes to Arthur's. They shone with unshed tears, and Arthur managed a weary smile. "You don't hate me?" Alfred asked in a small voice.

"Of course not, poppet. I could never bring myself to hate you, and I'm sure your father feels the same." He touched the apple of Alfred's cheek, tracing his fingers gently over the small, purpling sore across the bone. "Although I don't agree with what's transpired, I don't believe we should jump to blame – and especially not ourselves. Come, let's get you an icepack."

The American followed him into the kitchen his fingers catching onto the back of Arthur's sweater vest - not unlike a child would grasp his mother's skirts in a busy store. "I'm real sorry about all this," Alfred mumbled as Arthur began digging through the freezer.

Arthur pulled out a bag of frozen vegetables and held it gently to the side of Alfred's face, waiting for Alfred to take it from him and press it against his bruise himself. "Don't apologize, love." Arthur touched a small kiss to the side of Alfred's mouth before returning to the stove, kicking up the heat under the kettle. For a moment he thought he heard a noise, muffled and quiet. Arthur turned to look at Alfred, who only gave him a blank stare in return. "Bloody hell," Arthur hissed after hearing the noise again, his ears pricking up and his pulse raced to a panic once he realized what the noise may be.

Quickly he crossed the kitchen, opening the door to the basement hurriedly and peering inside. Katya sat on the second step, her face in her hands and she attempted to smother her hiccups and sobs. "Dear girl," Arthur tatted, stooping down and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Why the tears?"

Katya jumped, turning her wet face to Arthur. "O-oh! I-I'm sorry! T-that fighting... Ohh... I'm so s-sorry! Is every - everyone alright?"

Arthur smiled wanly. "No, I should apologize. I should have joined you down here. I did not realize the fight would put you in such a tizzy." He stood up and offered a hand to Katya. "Come; let's get you some tea to soothe those nerves."

Hesitantly Katya took his hand and Arthur pulled her up, leading her back into the kitchen and pulling out a chair for her to sit. "Please, relax." He pat her shoulder once more and got to work fixing the nervous woman a mug of tea.

Alfred quirked a small smile. "How come you never pull the chair out for me?" he complained with a small laugh in his voice. He pulled the bag from his face with a wince when Arthur only snorted in response.

Katya gasped lightly, pressing her knuckles to her lower lip. "Are you alright?" she asked, her fingers moving to cover her mouth as she spoke. "Your face is very red!"

"That's prolly from the ice," Alfred assured her, flipping his makeshift icepack around and reapplying it to his face. "I'm fine though, so no need to worry."

Arthur set a mug of steeping tea in front of Katya, taking a seat next to Alfred with his hands wrapped around a warm mug of his own. Alfred rested his head against Arthur's shoulder and Arthur let his head fall onto the top of Alfred's; they were simply tired.

"You two are very... easy around one another - is that how you say it?" She smiled when Arthur picked his head up to look at her properly, a questioning expression written on his features. "It's very nice to see such love after... all that fighting." She hupped and laced her fingers around her cup.

Alfred grimaced into Arthur's shoulder. "M'sorry you had to listen to all that," he mumbled. He wrapped an arm around Arthur as if seeking comfort and the Briton placed his hand in the crook of Alfred's elbow, holding the American's arm in place across his chest. "I didn't mean to ruin your and Arthur's first time in the U.S. I'm real sorry."

"Do shut up," Arthur grumbled. "All this self-depreciating talk really makes me want to stitch your mouth closed. How many times must I tell you? No one's perfect, so stop trying to be." Alfred gave him a frustrated look, his lower lip protruding slightly. Arthur sighed, feeling both at wit's end and amused. "I love you, poppet, truly."

"I love you, too," Alfred mumbled in return, his fingers digging into the fabric of Arthur's sleeve. "Even though you're a big meanie."

Katya chuckled in good humor, her nerves finally settling. Half a word had spilled from her mouth when the front door swung open, both cutting her off and startling the group at the table. Alfred Sr. walked inside, Matthew right behind him; they both looked weary and drawn. Alfred Sr.'s tired blue eyes found Alfred, draped across Arthur, and his father took a step into the room, his boots clicking against the tiled floor.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Alfred Sr. gathered Alfred up into his arms as best he could, mumbling incoherently and hiccupping as he held his son, pressing a kiss into the crown of Alfred's hair. "I'm so sorry," he was saying, over and over. "Alfred, I'm so sorry. I... I didn't mean... Jo was j-just... I'm so sorry. Please..."

Alfred sighed slowly, dropping his grip on Arthur to turn and wrap his arm around his father's waist. "S'alright, Pa. I'm fine. I really am. A-and..." He paused. "No one's perfect."

"I know, but I shouldnt've done it, Alfred. I'm so sorry." For a long moment they simply held each other, seeking silent assurances and apologies. Finally Alfred's father let him go, straightening and clearing his throat, he took a step towards Arthur, fidgeting a moment before stooping down and hugging the Briton as well. "And I'm sorry ta you, too. I shouldnt've said all that. I'm sorry." He pulled out of the hug enough to look Arthur square in the face, ignoring the stupefied expression the Englishman wore. "Just make sure ya take care of my son, understand?"

Arthur frowned. "Of course. I'll take care of him because I love him – not because you told me to." He crossed his arms staunchly, ignoring the horrified look Alfred sent him. "Frankly, I'm still trying to forgive you for what you did. But I'm not going to deny you your wish, either."

"Arthur!" Alfred hissed between his teeth. "Knock it off."

The Briton opened his mouth to protest, but closed it soon after. He gave Alfred a stern look before his expression melted into passivity. "I apologize," he said. "I didn't mean to offend."

"None taken." Alfred Sr. stood up, adjusting his coat with shaking hands, his blue eyes scanning over the near-forgotten dinner. "I'm going to see Feliciano – if ya could call ahead for me, Alfred. You kids continue on without me, but I'll be back tonight to help prep for Thanksgivin'. Sorry about all the fuss ya had to put up with, Kat."

Katya smiled, one hand twined with Matthew's and the other grasping her mug. "Everyone has been nothing but kind, Mr. Jones."

Alfred followed his father outside, pulling his phone from his pocket as he went. Arthur stared into his tea, a pensive look upon his brow.

"I'm surprised you actually listened to Alfred," Matthew said, pulling Katya's plate from the table and walking over to the microwave. "But I'm glad you did. It took me forever to calm Uncle Al down; he was convinced that he should go to jail or whatever goes through his mind these days. If you had ripped into him like I know you wanted to, I don't know if I would have been able to get through to him."

Arthur tilted his mug slightly, watching the tea stir. "There is no reason for me to not listen to Alfred. He may not think before he speaks, but he is very intelligent when he wants to be. I have faith in him, and it seems that my faith was justly placed." He tilted his tea in the opposite direction. "Also… I can be assured that this is not a common occurrence?"

Matthew shook his head. "No… no it's not. Something that everyone in my family seems to share is… Well, we just bottle everything up until we just, eh… _explode_. So, shouting matches are pretty common, yeah." He shrugged as the microwave finished, ringing loudly until he pulled open the door. "Alfred's usually more laid-back, though. When he's mad he likes to be alone – bugging him just leads to shouting matches and sometimes he throws things." He smiled. "Have I scared you off, yet?"

"I've never seen Alfred so upset before. Frustrated, yes. Never upset." He set his tea down as Matthew started heating up the next plate. "Why is that…?"

"You're pretty quiet. Alfred fuels off arguments and shouting. If you're quiet, he'll be quiet, too." Matthew sent him a curious glance. "In that sense, I guess you guys really work."

Before he could say more on the matter, Alfred came back inside, stomping snow from his boots and smiling shyly. "So, when's dinner?"

Arthur snorted and Matthew rolled his eyes.

Alfred was just glad that everything had settled down.

* * *

><p>The kitchen was a busy place on Thanksgiving, as Arthur found out. He was unfamiliar with the holiday, other than it was a time for gluttony and eating as much as one could. He had thought it was merely an American thing as well, but Matthew explained they had Thanksgiving in Canada as well, but it was celebrated in October. Arthur really didn't see the point in it all.<p>

Arthur's sleeves were rolled up as he kneaded the dough for the cookies that Alfred had decided were absolutely necessary. Matthew checked on the turkey in the oven and stirred the various dishes that sat, warming on the stovetop, while Katya sat in the sitting with Alfred's father as Alfred finished tending to Nova for the day.

"It's about family and being thankful for what you have," Alfred had told him the night before as they cuddled together on Alfred's bed. Katya and Matthew had taken the guest room, and Arthur was more than happy to share with Alfred. "And it's about pumpkin pie. Arthur I shit you not, I make the best damn pumpkin pie you will ever eat!"

Matthew examined the table, pulling a carrot from the veggie tray and munching on it thoughtfully. Alfred's father was busy trying to explain how American football worked as they watched a game, Alfred Sr. getting far too excited than Matthew thought necessary; although they always thought the same of him when it came to hockey, so he never mentioned it.

"So, Arthur," Matthew stared conversationally, picking up a few more carrots before moving to stand next to Arthur as he began to dollop out even shaped balls of cookie dough onto a cookie sheet. "What do you do for a living? Alfred's told me a lot about you, but he never tells me the important things."

Arthur paused. "Ah… Oh. I work in the financial department for an airline company. I balance spreadsheets and try and find the company missing money and such. Dreadfully boring, I assure you."

"Oh…" Matthew munched on another carrot. "So, do you get discounts on airfare or anything? That'd be neat."

"I'm afraid not, no. We don't get much beyond occasional overtime and a paycheck." He looked up from his work. "Why? I'm not an overly interesting person to begin with. I doubt any of my answers might excite you or make you like me further."

Matthew chuckled. "Well, by the way Alfred talks about you, you might as well be a superhero or the president of the U.S. or something."

Arthur fought back a smile and continued making the cookies. "Obviously I'm neither of those things. I've no clue as to what he sees in me."

Suddenly the front door opened and Alfred let himself in, moving to pry off his wet boots and shake snow from his jacket. "Ah! It's cold as hell out there," he grumbled, taking off his jacket and wiping the leather with the sleeve of his flannel shirt and hanging it up. He made his way into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist and pressing his cold nose to the back of Arthur's neck. "You're making the cookies!"

"Alfred! You're cold, you insufferable twat," Arthur fussed, tilting his head back and scrunching up his shoulders, hoping to dislodge Alfred from his back. "And why wouldn't I make them?"

Alfred shrugged, giving a quick kiss to Arthur's ear before letting go. "I dunno. I just didn't think you'd actually make 'em." He smiled widely. "Hey Matt! How's it goin'? When's everything gunna be done?"

Matthew sighed, eating another carrot before deigning to answer his younger cousin. "We're just waiting on Arthur's cookies and your pie. I made the pack this morning – it's sitting in the fridge waiting."

"Oh, yes! I've already told Arthur how awesome my pumpkin pie is, but you'd agree with me, wouldn't ya Matt?" Alfred babbled, collecting his ingredients and sidling up next to Arthur. Alfred pouted at his cousin's purposeful silence, and then grimacing when Matthew rolled his eyes. "He's just jealous. When you're done Arthur, I'll show you how to make the most amazing pie you will ever put in your mouth!"

* * *

><p>Later that night, when the food had been eaten and the football game had finished, Alfred had brought Arthur back to the hay barn. They sat atop the stacks of hay bales, leaning against one another for extra warmth as they stared outside, watching snow fall lightly in the moonlight.<p>

"Did you have a good time?" Alfred asked, snuggling closer to Arthur with a childish smile on his face.

Arthur smiled gently in return. "It was a very interesting time," he admitted. When they had finally sat down to eat, the table had lit up with conversation and laughter, that Arthur could scarcely find a moment to eat between his chuckles and grins. "I'm glad I was a part of it. And your pumpkin pie was wonderful – someday you'll have to make it for me again."

Those little promises of the future, Arthur had found, made him extremely happy. It was a small way to say, _"When we're together again."_ It was an assurance that this would not be the last time, and it was comforting. Alfred smiled and pulled Arthur into his lap, pushing his face into Arthur's shoulder. "I don't want you to leave," the American said suddenly, looking up at Arthur's face with pleading blue eyes. "Not ever!"

"Let's not think about that, love. We should enjoy every moment we have left without such heavy thoughts." Arthur touched his nose to Alfred's. "And I do believe that I've fallen even more in love with you, Alfred Franklin Jones, this past month. I'm… glad I've been able to spend all this time with you. It will always remain precious to me – as will you, poppet."

Alfred choked on a laugh, his smile bright and eyes dewy with emotion. "You're such a sap, Arthur!" he exclaimed, kissing at Arthur's face, his lips warm in the chill of winter.

"I learnt from the best."

The American made a noise that was a mixture between a giggle and a sob, clutching Arthur close to his chest. "It's not fair," he cried. "I don't ever want to let you go. I'm sorry! I can't stop thinkin' about it. Tomorrow is your last full day here. I can't even… Can we just lie in bed all day and hold each other? 'Coz I can't think of anythin' I'd rather do on our last day."

Arthur felt his chest squeeze with sadness, and he dipped down to catch Alfred's lips with his own, feeling desperate and guilty. "I don't want to leave, either, love," he breathed between kisses. "I would happily stay by your side for the rest of my life."

Alfred pulled away from Arthur's kisses, his lower lip stuck between Arthur's teeth for a moment. "Why don't you?" he asked, his face a drawn line. "You don't have to get on that airplane, Arthur."

"Oh, but we both know I do, my dear boy." Arthur frowned. "I've a job to return to, a kitten to rescue from a certain Frenchman, and a flat to pay rent on. And you have a ranch to help run, a horse to lavish, and school to finish." He cupped his hands around Alfred's masculine face. "We still have a ways to go, my sweet Alfred. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"That's the dumbest question if I ever heard one," Alfred answered, huffing into Arthur's jacket. "I've never wanted nothing more in my whole life but you! Not even… not even video games or comic books or… anything. I want _you_. Forever."

Arthur laughed, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck lovingly. "Well, I dare say that I return your sentiment." He kissed the American sweetly, his lips turned up into a sad smile. "How about tomorrow we watch movies until we're numb, simply staying in one another's arms until it only direly important that we move?"

"That sounds like the best plan ever." Alfred smiled and kissed Arthur on the side of his mouth. "It'll be our special day."

* * *

><p>The ride to the airport was long, and the silence in the car was stagnant. Alfred drove the truck carefully through the snowy roads, only relaxing into his seat and lacing his hand with Arthur's once they were on cleared highways. Matthew and Katya sat in the backseat, occasionally mumbling something softly to one another before falling back into a sleepy quiet.<p>

Arthur's heart seemed to ache more and more with each mile they drove. His hand would tighten around Alfred's and he would have to resist the urge to shout that he wasn't getting on his flight. It wasn't until they reached the parking lot of the airport did he feel the sting of tears in his eyes and the violent urge to heave from anxiety.

Everyone got out of the car but Arthur. He sat in his seat, shaking and unwilling. Alfred opened his door, leaning in and wordlessly wrapping his arms around the Briton. "Don't leave," he whispered with a trembling voice. "Just don't…"

Arthur unbuckled his seatbelt, moving to cradle Alfred's head to his chest. Matthew and Katya went ahead into the airport, giving them their space, for which Arthur was grateful for. "Poppet…" his voice broke and he coughed, trying not to breakdown in front of his lover, "My precious love, I'm sorry. You know… you know I must."

"I know," Alfred answered softly; almost inaudible as he pulled out of Arthur's grasp, helping the Briton from the truck. "I know."

Numbly Arthur followed Alfred into the airport, never once dropping his vice-like grip on Alfred's hand, despite the stares they received. He couldn't care less. Not at a time like this.

Matthew and Katya met up with them at the café by the security line, looking solemn and worried. "Arthur, you're headed to Chicago for your layover, right? I'm sure we have the same flight," Matthew said, hoping to spark some kind of conversation. Arthur only shrugged, handing Matthew his ticket. He hoped the Canadian accidently burned it along with his passport so he had an excuse as to not leave. "Same flight number! You can sit with me and Katya so that way you at least have someone to talk to for part of the way!"

"Smashing," was Arthur's only reply.

Katya frowned, giving Matthew a sympathetic look. "We're going to go on ahead. You should probably get in line soon."

Alfred and Arthur stood at the edge of the security line, watching the line flux. "You have to go," Alfred murmured. His face was pinched with sadness, a stray tear rolling down the side of his face.

Arthur reached up and wiped the tear away, his own vision blurred by the tears he refused to shed. "Yes, I do." Without much more thought than that, he pushed himself upwards and brought his lips to Alfred's in the only goodbye he trusted himself to say.

Alfred kissed him back and they parted, tears making paths down from their eyes. Finally Arthur moved for the security line, their hands clasped together until the very last moment.

Matthew and Katya were waiting for him, but he couldn't even bring himself to say a single word. Katya simply tucked her arm into his, rubbing his back in comforting circles, and he was led off into the airport.

- End of Chapter Sixteen -

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><p>Uieabgjaldwaiat<p>

I really didn't like writing this chapter. Too much sadness. :( There are only about four more chapters left, guys! It can only go up from here! :D

Thank you so much for all of your support and everything! Seriously, thank you guys so much!


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Alongside

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Seventeen: Alongside_

_Important Notes:_John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukraine

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

**[Alfred]**

**Hey Arthur are you home from work yet?**

**[Message received 5:55 PM]**

Arthur smiled lightly, setting his mobile on the flat surface of his table as he wandered into his room to retrieve his laptop. The water for tea sat warming on the stove as he returned, setting down his computer to pick up his mobile and answer the American.

**[Arthur]**

**Yes, I am. Why, is there something you need?**

**[Message sent 5:557 PM]**

He booted up his computer, taking his kettle off the heat and beginning to steep a fresh cup of hot water. It had been a long day at work, and a fresh cup of tea was exactly what he needed to relax after such a stressful day.

**[Alfred]**

**Yeah. Kinda sorta. Can you get on skype sometime soon?**

**[Message received 6:01 PM]**

Arthur gave a simple affirmative response, sipping carefully at his hot tea as he waited for his computer to finish loading before opening his Skype client.

When Alfred's face, as handsome and youthful as he remembered, became clear on the screen, Arthur's heart pained for a moment. He reached out a hand to touch Alfred's pixilated jaw. It had already been three, long, torturous months since he had held his beloved last. It was February and it was nearing the first anniversary of John's death. _"Was there something you needed, love?"_ he asked, slowly pulling his hand from his computer screen.

Alfred smiled. _"You look as handsome as ever, yanno that Arthur?"_ The Briton balked, making Alfred chuckle. _"I have some spare time, finally, and I really wanted to see your face. School is really… Well, it's definitely not like anything I'm used to, that's for sure."_

"_I'd imagine – I've seen photos of your high school. But how are you faring? You're able to maintain your new place, I hope? Remember, if you ever need assistance –"_

"_I know, Arthur,"_ Alfred cut in with a broad smile. _"But really I'm doin' fine. And the fellas at the shop are real nice, so it ain't been too bad."_ He glanced around a moment and Arthur took the opportunity to inspect the bedroom that his lover was currently in. It didn't seem too small and the walls were already decorated with most of Alfred's memorabilia from home. Arthur was grateful that the transition from the ranch to the small city flat seemed to go over well. _"Oh, right! That's what I wanted to mention to ya!" _Alfred grabbed his phone, reading something with a goofy smile. _"So, this morning, Matt sent me a text."_

"_Did he now? How is he?"_

Alfred snorted. _"Great, apparently. He told me he's planning on proposing to Kat this year."_

The Englishman paused, his hands settling onto his teacup as Alfred's expression lagged momentarily. _"Well! That's splendid news, is it not? Katya is a very wonderful woman, I daresay. I'm glad I had the chance to speak with her more on the flight home. Very wonderful woman."_

"_Mhm, and Matt really seems ta love her, so I told him that I'm all for it."_ His smile turned a bit nervous and he brought a can of soda to his mouth. _"But well… I was thinkin…"_

"_God save us all,"_ Arthur drawled easily, tapping his finger against the side of his teacup.

Alfred stuck his tongue out. _"You're hilarious, yanno that? Knee slappin' comic. But anyway, I was thinkin' about… Uhm…"_ he trailed off, flushing and giving Arthur a lopsided smile. _"Uh, about… well, _us_."_

Arthur paused, his chest squeezing with worry. _"What about us, Alfred?"_ he asked softly before swallowing thickly, bringing his teacup to his lips to hide his face.

The American chuckled nervously. _"I thought'd be obvious. You always do jump to the worst case scenario!"_ Alfred's smile dampened a bit when Arthur's expression didn't thaw. _"I meant… well… Matt's gettin' married or close to that or whatever, and I was just wonderin' if… Okay never mind, it's prolly a bad idea to ask."_

"_Alfred! What on earth are you talking about?"_ Excalibur hopped onto his lap, mewling softly as Arthur absently stroked the fur between his ears. _"You don't mean to tell me… you were thinking of when we would get married?"_

Their conversation lulled as Arthur's words slowly sunk in. Arthur blushed brightly, covering his mouth with a hand_. "I know it's outta nowhere, Arthur," _Alfred began, picking at his nails with his head bent shyly, _"But we've known each other forever and… I love you so much. I just can't help but to wonder if we'll ever… you know… someday…"_

Arthur frowned, but nodded in agreement. _"Alfred, we don't even reside in the same country. There are… larger things we should be worrying about at the moment."_

"_Yeah, you're right… but…" _Arthur heard a shrill noise through Alfred's microphone and the American grimaced, picking up his mobile and sighing. _"Okay, I've got to get to my lab now." _He hesitated a moment, rocking forward in his chair before sitting back. _"I miss you Arthur, and I love you. I just wish… Well. If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?"_

The Briton choked on seemingly nothing setting his tea down quickly as to not spill. _"Alfred! Y-you can't… j-just _ask _questions like that!" _he sputtered, the apples of his cheeks burning with embarrassed warmth.

Alfred smiled cheekily. _"But I already did! So you might as well gimme an answer!"_

"_I would… well..." _Arthur cleared his throat. _"Ah… depending on… well where we're at in life… I would, ah… more than likely agree."_

Alfred let loose a breathy laugh of relief, leaning back in his chair with his hands on his stomach and a wide, bright grin on his face. _"I fucking love you so much!" _he burst out, kissing his hand and making a show of blowing it to Arthur. _"But I really have to go now or I'll be late. You just… you made my whole year – my life!"_

Arthur chuckled, rubbing at his nose. _"You're welcome, poppet. Don't be late now. I love you and have fun at lab."_

"_I love ya, too, Arthur! Talk to you later!"_

* * *

><p>The day was long and slow for Arthur. He stared blankly at the spreadsheets before him, uncomprehending as his eyes seemed to cross on their own accord. The muggy feeling washed through his limbs, which confused him. He'd had enough sleep the night before, had a decent breakfast, and even waved at Francis when he'd started his shift. There was no reason for him to be feeling so… tired.<p>

The tips of his fingers tingled as he touched the papers in front of him. He glanced at the calendar that hung above his in-box. There was still a month left before Alfred would come to visit him for spring break. A month felt far too long. It was getting harder and harder to wait.

He refocused on the spreadsheets, typing in a few numbers on his computer before a soft knock resounded from behind him. Arthur spun around in his chair, expecting to see Francis but was caught off guard when instead he found his boss standing patiently in the gaping doorway of his cubicle. "Ah, good afternoon, sir…" Arthur muttered, blinking owlishly at the short Asian man.

Wang Yao was rather effeminate with a penchant for some Chinese off-shot of Hello Kitty and long brown hair, but he had immaculate business sense and was rather strict when things didn't quite fit his standards. "Arthur," his boss greeted, tilting his head slightly. "Do you have a moment? I would like to speak to you in my office."

"Ah, yes of course…" Quickly he shuffled his papers back into their file, settling it on his desk before standing and following Yao through the long halls of cubicles. He caught sight of Francis, twirling a blue pen between his fingers as he read over his own spreadsheets. He paused, curious blue eyes looking up and following Arthur as he walked by. The Frenchman frowned.

Yao's office was simple and under-furnished the only personality to the room were the Hello Kitty off-shot figurines and the family photos on the desk, a smiling wife and two children with missing teeth. Arthur's chest squeezed. He took a seat in the offered chair, watching as his boss slowly sat in his own on the other side of the oaken desk. "Arthur, I'd like to speak to you about your performance," Yao said, his voice lightly accented and chopped as he spoke. Arthur nodded along, unfeeling and numb. "We've been tracking your performance for a while, and there have been mistakes. Small ones, but they still cost the company money to fix. You understand?"

Arthur nodded again. "Yes… of course…" His stomach churned unpleasantly and he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Is something the matter?" Yao asked, frowning and looking genuinely worried. He had been working under Yao for almost four years now; since he was eighteen and in his internship with the company. Arthur sighed and decided to be honest for a change.

"Just tired," Arthur answered with a mumble. "Always… tired, sir."

The little frown on Yao's face deepened. "Have you talked to anyone? Spoken to a doctor about it?"

"About being tired, sir?" Arthur gave a strained chuckle. "They would send me right back out." He folded his hands into his lap, looking away when Yao only gave him a level stare in return. "Why do you ask?"

The Asian man only sighed, sitting back in his chair with a near pained look on his face. "Arthur, why don't you go home now? Get some sleep – see the doctor, please. I'm going to call you back in here in two weeks, and we'll discuss if you still have a job then."

Arthur's mind felt blank as he sat for a few stunned moments. He gathered his wits slowly before standing, muttering a few unfelt farewells before heading back to his cubicle to gather his things and leave for the day.

It was drizzling on his way home, the soles of his shoes sloshing in the small puddles on the dampened sidewalk. The weather certainly had a way with matching his mood, he supposed as he buried himself further under his umbrella, unwilling to glance out from underneath at any of the passerby. Is all he was doing was returning to his painfully empty flat, wishing for more, but only having a cat for company. The thought only dampened his mood even more.

He shook out his umbrella as he reached his flat complex, taking the lift and jamming his key into the lock of his door.

Arthur threw himself onto his sofa, letting only the sound of the patter of rain on his window and the heavy noise of his own breathing reach his ears. He buried his nose into the cushion. Alfred had slept here all that time ago – this is where they had their first kiss, where everything that was right in his life started. Arthur rolled himself into the sofa, as if he could just bury himself within the cushions and relive his memories.

The soft buzzing of his phone brought him back into reality, and he flipped onto his back, grimacing as Excalibur jumped onto his stomach a moment later. He pulled his mobile from the pocket of his slacks, poking at the screen slowly.

**[New Picture Message from Alfred! 9:09 AM]**

Arthur frowned, opening the message. It was around 3am over there. Why on Earth was Alfred even awake?

The picture soon filled his screen. It was slightly blurry, but Arthur could make out the vast, unimpeded starry sky – faint pricks of starlight against the black sky. Underneath it simply said:

**America misses you.**

A single, hot tear rolled down the curve of his cheek, and he sniffed, sitting up with a hup. Arthur's heart ached, a dull thud against his ribs. He wanted nothing more than to hide away in Alfred's arms and let the world pass him by.

He opened his window, uncaring that it was dirty and that it was probably time for a good clean around the entire flat. He leaned outside, turning on his phone's camera and doing his best to angle the shot down the main road, capturing the damp wet and rainy sky.

**[Arthur]**

**England misses you dearly.**

**[Message sent 9:13 AM]**

* * *

><p><strong>- <strong>In the Midwest -

Alfred packed up his supplies with a tired yawn. He should have never agreed to a class that was so late in the day – he was always running dry by about four in the afternoon. He gave his Physics teacher a pleasant nod as he left the classroom, scanning the halls for anyone familiar. Ever since he had made the decision to move out and attend University like a normal college student would, Alfred found himself floundering like a fish out of water. He was that rural farmer hick that no one really talked to simply because of where he was from.

Needless to say, he had managed to find a few other awkward social outcasts like himself and had made himself perfectly content. The only thing that brought him down (with the exception of normal, day to day chores and class work), was his worry for Arthur.

The Englishman had told him what his boss said and the two week mark was rapidly approaching; Arthur's nerves were fraying more and more as each day passed. Alfred pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans, ignoring the way his boots clicked on the tiled floor of the science building. He still had three weeks until spring break, and he had every intention of holding Arthur and never letting him go as soon as he set foot in London.

Alfred frowned at his phone, disappointed at the lack of update from Arthur. He had promised Alfred he would visit the doctor today and Alfred felt as if he were on pins and needles waiting for Arthur to tell him that he was perfectly fine, just a bit of stress.

With a sigh he pocketed his phone, looking around as he pushed his way outside and into the parking lot. His apartment was only a ten minute walk from the downtown campus. Whenever he needed a ride somewhere, he usually relied on his friends to give him a lift and back, although he rarely came across a place that he couldn't just walk to.

"Hey! Kiku!" he shouted when he spotted one of his friends. Kiku was a Japanese exchange student with floundering English and was a bit of a social recluse because of it. He ran to catch up with the Japanese man, nearly dropping his bag in the process. "Hey! How are ya?"

Kiku hesitated, his brown eyes watching Alfred carefully for a long moment. "Ah… I am well Ahfred-san. And you?"

The American shrugged nonchalantly. "Pretty good. I can't wait for spring to be here. This cold is starting to drive me crazy." He smiled at Kiku, fixing the sleeves of his jacket.

"Ah, I see…" He fidgeted with the pencil case in his hands as they walked together. "The weekend is coming soon… Ah… you have prans?"

"Plans? Oh, yeah. I'm going to visit my Pa and help him fix one of the gates on the ranch. There's always work that needs to be done. And what about you, Kiku? You got somethin' planned for this weekend?" Kiku only shook his head, muttering a few Japanese terms that Alfred was still trying to grasp the concept of. He figured Kiku would just keep drawing his cartoon characters, and _damn_ could Kiku draw. "Aw, well that's a bummer! How 'bout next weekend you and me play some video games? I'll make sure they ain't the scary ones, okay? Just me and you and some Call of Duty, alright?"

The Japanese student nodded. "We shall see then."

* * *

><p>As soon as Alfred got home, he threw his bag on his computer chair and pulled out his cell phone, frowning at the lack of texts from Arthur. He checked the time: six p.m. Arthur would probably be sleeping, but…<p>

**[Me]**

**Arthur? Arthur hey did you go to the docs? Whatd they say are you okay? Arthur what's goin on?**

**[Message sent 6:03 PM]**

With a frown he pulled out his math book, setting his phone on the desk next to him as he went over his homework that was due in the morning. Every minute or so he would pick up his phone and check to see if maybe he had missed a text from Arthur, but there was never anything.

That night he ended up triple checking his math, physics, and English paper, playing his Xbox until four in the morning and crashed on the floor in front of his T.V, waiting for Arthur to text him back; just waiting.

Alfred woke up four hours late, cursing when he realized he'd missed his first class of the day and was already twenty minutes late for his second. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping on the floor in an awkward position and a headache to boot. Alfred scowled as he pulled on a clean shirt, snapping up the buttons hurriedly before grabbing his phone and stopping on a dime.

**[Sir Arthur]**

**Poppet when you get this message let me know.**

**[Message received 6:09 AM]**

Alfred's brows scrunched in worry and he sat down in his computer chair. He hated it when Arthur did stuff like this – acting sketchy and quiet when it came to important or sensitive subjects. Sometimes he wished Arthur would just come out and tell him things, but Arthur did that already, just not _everything._ Alfred sighed and began to type out a new message. He supposed he could just forget about class now.

**[Me]**

**I got it just now. Arthur are you okay? I'm worried shitless about u over here**

**[Message sent 9:34 AM]**

After a few moments of no response, Alfred got up and decided to fish through the medicine cabinet in his bathroom for a bottle of aspirin, taking a few pills before going into his room and lying on his bed with his phone on his chest. He just began to doze off when his phone rang, causing him to start with a tired grimace.

**[Sir Arthur]**

**I'll be alright, love. Turns out I have an ulcer of the stomach, caused by stress, which explains why I wasn't eating and why I felt so tired all the time. Plea**

**[Message received 9:52 AM]**

**[Sir Arthur]**

**se don't worry, dearest. Also I apologise for not answering last night. They gave me a strong pain killer while I waited for my prescription to go through.**

**[Message received 9:52 AM]**

Alfred let out a breath of relief, glad he hadn't had the chance to convince himself Arthur was dead or something just as stupid. Of course Arthur would be alright. He rolled over onto his side with a yawn. With his eyes squinted he poked out a quick reply.

**[Me]**

**Thnk god. Im not goin to class 2day so after this nap will u get on skype with me? I wanna see u.**

**[Message sent 10:00 AM]**

**[Sir Arthur]**

**Of course, love. Just send me the word. I love you.**

**[Message received 10:01 AM]**

He smiled lazily, settling the phone on the bed next to him before pulling his blankets around his shoulders. Just three more weeks – he wasn't sure how he made it this far.

* * *

><p>- <span>Across the Atlantic<span> -

Arthur stared at Alfred pixilated face blankly. He knew he looked a mess, but at this point he couldn't care any less. It was around four in the morning in Nebraska, but Arthur didn't care much about that, either. Alfred sat in his darkened flat, the light from his computer illuminating the strong lines of his worried face. Arthur hugged himself a moment.

"_I lost the job,"_ he mumbled, hunching forward despondently. _"I lost… my fucking job… Alfred – I… I can't… I don't know what to do."_

Alfred frowned heavily, his hand reaching out before stopping himself and sighing. _"I'm so sorry, Arthur…__" _he said sadly, tucking his hands into his lap. _"Have... Did your boss even say why?"_

Arthur sighed, long and hard, as if trying to expel all of his feelings with a single breath. _"My performance... ah, faltered... over the past few months. I guess I didn't think that my job was worth keeping at the time... I haven't an idea as to how it all happened. I just... I don't know. What am I supposed to do? I have a flat to pay rent on and a cat to feed and... just fuck."_

_"S'okay, Arthur. Do ya have any money stashed away? Saved somethin' for a rainy day?"_

The Briton sighed. _"Yes... I have about... five months worth of rent saved. I wanted... to use it to visit you - but ah... I don't know how long it'll last, what with these pills and such." _Arthur gave a frustrated growl, weaving his fingers through his hair and tugging. _"Fuck! Everything is just falling apart around me! Bloody fucking hell!"_

Alfred calmly listened to Arthur's proceeding cursing rant, his face filled with sympathy and care. _"Art... Arthur, hey." _He waited for the Englishman to finally look at him, angry tears slowly pushing to the corners of his green eyes and down the curve next to his nose. _"Not everythin' is fallin' apart. You still got me, and that ain't never gunna change. We only have a week and a half before I come over there, remember. Let's not do anything crazy until then. I know I can't make it better, but I'm sure we'll be able to figure something out... together."_

_"Oh... damn you," _Arthur choked out, smiling and coughing uncomfortably as he tried to repress it. _"Damn you for being so... so fucking perfect." _Arthur sniffed loudly. _"Shit... Do me a favor and just change the subject, will you?" _

_"Nah, I ain't perfect, and you know it. We've been over this. If anyone's the perfect one, it's you, Arthur." _Alfred smiled his dimple deepened smile and grew quiet for a moment. _"Change of subject? Uhm... okay... well I just woke up, yanno... and... uhm..." _He pursed his lips, his brows wrinkling as his expression turned embarrassed.

Arthur tilted his head curiously. _"Something, poppet?" _he asked, folding his hands around the cooling cup of Chamomile tea.

The American paused, staring at Arthur for a moment before finally admitting, _"I'm really horny..." _He made an embarrassed noise and let his head drop to his keyboard with a clack. _"A-and I miss you and... and... I was having the _best _dream... Oh man... I'm so sorry."_

Arthur, after watching Alfred's uncomfortable squirming for a moment, simply let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. _"Wow... just... wow. For a moment I was worried, but, oh love..." _ He smiled brightly at his lover. _"Care to share what this dream was about, hm?"_

Alfred sputtered, clearing his throat and laughing shyly. _"O-oh... I don't think you... wanna really know about it... It's just a stupid dream..."_

_"No, no! I'm curious._" Arthur frowned. _"Well, unless it wasn't about me?"_

_"I-it was!" _Alfred blurt out quickly. _"And we were - uh! Okay I dunno if I've told you this before, but uhm, I really love… your legs. They're so long and sexy a-and I love it when you hook 'em over my shoulders when… Oh God… " _Alfred hid his hands in his face. _"I'm so perverted..."_

Arthur laughed again, wincing when a needling pain shot through the top of his stomach. He covered his mouth for a moment to hide his discomfort before addressing Alfred. _"Not perverted, love. Perverted would be... me asking to watch as you gave yourself a wank."_

Alfred coughed. _"You always were the perverted type," _he grumbled, flushing as he stared down. _"I... oh my God... just thinking about letting you..." _He glanced around the flat behind him. _"Promise not to tell anyone?"_

_"Who am I going to tell, poppet? It'll be our secret," _he purred, the tips of his fingers trace the edges of his teacup. Sometimes he loved this boy too much, he thought as Alfred huffed and began fixing the angle of his webcam. _Far _too much.

* * *

><p>- <span>In the Midwest<span> -

"Thanks for bringing me here, Pa," Alfred said as he pulled his luggage from the bed of the truck, throwing his duffle over his shoulder. "You didn't haveta."

His father shrugged as he got out of the truck as well. "What kinda dad would I be if I didn't see my own son off?"

Alfred gave a lopsided smile. Tensions had been gradually rising between the two of them after his and Arthur's "coming out". It was what prompted him to move to the campus in the first place. And even though most things hadn't changed, there were times when things still felt awkward or something seemed unsaid. Alfred just hoped that someday everything would finally smooth over, but until then he wanted to keep his head low. "You're a great dad, Pa. At least, I think so, and that's all that matters."

"Ah..." His father stumbled a bit over what to say before opting to stay silent, clapping Alfred on the shoulder instead.  
>They were running late, and Alfred rushed inside checking the time compulsively as he stood in line for his baggage. When he had his tickets and passport out and ready, following his father to the security line where his departure gate was, he stopped for a short moment and hugged his father quickly.<p>

"I'll be back in a week, Pa. Don't you worry about me, alright? I promise you I'll come back."

Alfred Sr. deflated, his shoulders slumping as he hugged his son in return. "I trust ya, but you're old enough to make your own decisions... no matter how stupid, ya hear?"

"I hear ya, Pa. Just remember to pick me up!" Alfred laughed, pulling out of the hug with a smile. They shared an understanding look before Alfred took off into the security lines, waving goodbye frantically until his father was nowhere in sight.

**[Me]**

**Boarding my plane soon. I cant wait to see you! I'm going to give you a huge freaking hug!**

**[Message sent 10:45 AM]**

**[Sir Arthur]**

**Just remember it will be five in the morning. Don't make too much of a fuss, you'll ruin the quiet morning charm.**

**[Message received 10:46 AM]**

**[Me]**

**Blahblahblah. Morning quiet sure. Just wait til I wake up after my jet-lag nap ;D Oops plane is boarding now ill let u know when i get to chicago**

**[Mesage sent 11:05 AM]**

* * *

><p>Airports seemed so familiar to him now. They were places of reunions and partings, both the happiest and saddest places on Earth. Alfred jogged through the terminal, his legs jittery from sitting for far too long and his heart racing with excitement as his too blue eyes scanned the thin crowds of the airport lobby.<p>

"Arthur!" he shouted into the stillness of the airport, spotting the blond Briton fumbling with his phone in a lonesome corner. He dropped his bag as he ran; startling Arthur when he scooped him up into his arms, twirling once and setting the Englishman back down on his feet. "I missed you so damn much!"

Arthur took a moment to compose himself, lifting his bright green eyes to Alfred's face and touched his jaw lightly with the back of his knuckles. Alfred's heart nearly burst, tears pricking in his eyes as he smiled down at Arthur's pleasant and tearful expression. "I missed you just as much, love. How did we survive?" His voice was strained as he tried to speak clearly.

Alfred held Arthur closer, burying his nose in Arthur's hair above his ear. "I dunno... but we did it." They both sniffed, smiling with wet eyes and thundering hearts. "Let's get outta here."

"In a moment." Alfred hesitated and Arthur took the moment to cup his hands around the American's face, pulling him down for a wet, messy kiss. To Alfred, it was the best feeling in the world.

* * *

><p><em>Unimportant Notes: <em>Hey guys! :o Thanks for sticking with me this far! I can't believe it... Thank you so much! :DD

Also, thank you to **Trumpet-Geek **for betaing this chapter! :)


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Forthwith

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Eighteen: Forthwith_

_Important Notes:_John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukraine

* * *

><p>Alfred couldn't take his eyes off of Arthur. For the entire wait for his luggage, the bus ride, and the short walk and elevator ride up to Arthur's apartment, he couldn't stop staring. It was as if he were simply waiting for the Englishman to break down or melt or, well, <em>something<em>. But Arthur never did; he sonly mumbled sweet nothings into his ear and told Alfred how glad he was and held his hand the entire way home. Finally Alfred gave up and asked,

"Arthur, how are ya feelin'?"

Arthur paused in the process of taking off his shoes. "Ah… so is that what all that staring was for? I thought it was my dashing good looks that caused it."

"They helped," Alfred teased. He sidled up next to Arthur and wrapped his arms about the blond's waist. "But in all honesty, how are you? Are you okay? I've been so worried and… well… I feel bad for not being able to be there for you when it mattered."

With a tiny smile on his lips, Arthur leaned forward and touched their foreheads together. "I'm fine, love, I really am. It's more of a little tummy ache these days, I assure you." He wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, letting his fingers pull lazily through the back of the American's soft hair. "And don't say you weren't there. You were, in every way you could be. And… thank you – for that. You made life bearable. Now, if you don't mind the change of subject, I would very much like a kiss."

Alfred chuckled. "I guess I can handle that much." He leaned in, pressing his lips onto Arthur's, beginning to rock side to side with the Briton tucked into his arms. "I really missed you," he mumbled when their honeyed kiss finally broke. He watched as Arthur, almost reluctantly, started to sway with him, sighing and resting his head against the American's shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you and missed you, too, poppet." Arthur nuzzled his nose into the collar of Alfred's jacket. "So, is there a reason for this silent dance?"

Alfred snorted in amusement, making more exaggerated sways before returning to the gentle rocking. "Dance? I ain't much of a dancer, but if ya asked me to, I'd find it mighty hard to say no." He smiled and tightened his grip. "And I guess I'm just tired… but I don't wanna let you go. I hate jetlag."

Arthur pulled his face from Alfred's jacket. "Come, let's lie down. I haven't anything planned for us today."

"Nothing planned? So whatcha got planned for the rest?" Alfred asked as Arthur led him to the bedroom by the hand.

They fell into the blankets together, giggling softly as they took off one another's jackets and kissed and rolled into embraces. "Mother wants to see you again… at her house… where I grew up."

"Mmm?" Alfred snuggled close to Arthur adjusting his hips so they pressed up against Arthur's. "You seem kinda… iffy about it. What's up?"

Arthur bit his lower lip, his fingers gripping at the fabric of Alfred's ACDC tee-shirt – funny, he always thought the American had a better taste in music. "Oh… oh, nothing. It's just a rather old house. Ah, but Alfred, is it truly necessary to… rub against me like that?"

The Englishman coughed uncomfortably, the apples of his cheeks beginning to rose ever so slightly. Alfred paused, looking up into Arthur's face. It had been so long since they were this close and it was as if he was hypersensitive to everything about Arthur; the feel of his skin, the sound of his breath, the growing warmth that was pressing back against his groin. "Oh…" He stilled, hiding his face into the folds of the blankets for a moment. "Sorry… I didn't even realize I was… I feel so sluggish, but awake – but not."

"And maybe a little more than that, hm?" A devious grin spread across Arthur's face. He ran his hand through Alfred's hair, gently kissing at the American's chin and forehead. "No need to be shy, dearest. Alfred, love, look at me."

Slowly Alfred looked to Arthur, his face scrunched up slightly to show his discomfort. "I'm not _shy_, geeze… I'm just… real tired, that's all. So I just don't think I'd be up for it."

Alfred pouted and Arthur couldn't help but to chuckle. "Alright, alright. Come here, go ahead and sleep, love. I'll be right here when you wake up."

"Thanks, you're the best." Alfred tucked himself back into Arthur's open arms, sighing happily into the crook of the blond's neck. But did Arthur smell good, too. That had to have been the aftershave he had bought him for Christmas because it smelled so familiar and yet… Alfred hummed in contentment, edging closer to Arthur even more.

"Uhm, Alfred, love?" He waited for Alfred to grunt in response. "You're… ah… _humping _me, for lack of better words."

Alfred startled, pushing away from Arthur as soon as he realized he really _was_ rocking his hips against his boyfriend. "Aw, shit… Sorry Arthur. I – I didn't even realize… Oh man…" He pressed a hand to his face, unsure if he should feel embarrassed or not.

Arthur merely tatted, resting his hand on Alfred's lower abs. "I'll take care of it for you, poppet." Before Alfred could protest properly, Arthur had already begun to unbuckle his belt and pop open the button of his jeans.

"A-Arthur…" Alfred's breath hitched as the Briton managed to shimmy his jeans down to his knees. Arthur leaned forward until his nose touched the shaft of Alfred's growing erection, his tongue lapping slowly at the pink skin. "H-hah… Arthur ya-you don't gotta…" His fingers curled into the fabric of the blankets as Arthur took his cock into his warm mouth. Alfred's head fell to the side, panting through his nose as he watched Arthur from the corners of his eyes. The Englishman's head of yellow blond hair bobbed up and down, the occasional slurping noise escaping his lips. A hand moved from Alfred's hips, traveling down his own body to palm at the front of his trousers.

With a whine Alfred pushed Arthur's head away from his crotch, sitting up only to wrap his arms around Arthur's shoulders. "Alfred? What's wrong?"

Arthur's lips were wet and pink as he huffed lightly, his green eyes searching Alfred's face for anything that could hint as to what was going on. "I just… I feel bad 'coz – I dunno. I don't wanna take and… not give… yanno?" He sighed. "But I don't think I could move. Sorry Arthur, I just feel real lame. Sorry."

"Don't." Gently Arthur traced Alfred's jawline with the tips of his fingers, smiling lightly at the feel of stubble. Alfred certainly had grown into quite the handsome man. To think he had known him since he was but nine years old. "Love, I know you watch porn –" Alfred choked and blushed, " – how do you feel about, ah… what's the term? Sixty-nine?"

Alfred cleared his throat; his cheeks tinted an embarrassed red. "Y-you mean… okay, yeah I know what you mean." He ran a hand across the width of Arthur's shoulders. "Okay, yeah. I mean, if you're up for it. I… I might not be very good at any of this but… you know…"

Arthur kissed the corner of Alfred's mouth. "You'll be perfect, as you always are." Arthur took a few moments to pull off his own clothes before pushing Alfred back down onto the bed. "Now, you lie back and… and if you don't want to continue, just tell me to stop, alright love?"

"Okay." For a few nervous moments he watched as Arthur crawled over him, slowly positioning himself as if to give Alfred a chance to back out. And it wasn't as if he wasn't open to new things, but there was something to be said about how nervous he felt whenever he met Arthur again after a long separation. There was always that underlying fear that Arthur had changed his mind during their time apart – or that Arthur felt he had changed too much, or something between them had shifted for the worst. Alfred drew in a deep breath to muster his courage, his hands finding their way to trace the muscles of Arthur's thighs. "I love you," he breathed out as his hands rose up the swells of Arthur's legs and to his hips. Alfred pulled the Englishman's hips closer to his face.

Arthur made a surprised noise that quickly melted into a moan as Alfred began licking and sucking his cock. He swallowed thickly, his arms shaking slightly at the elbows from pleasure, before returning the favor. He never thought that they would be doing this – never thought they'd have sex for the first time on bales of hay, either. Alfred, his sweet, God-loving country boy… he was so full of surprises and warmth and love. Arthur wasn't sure what he'd ever do without him – didn't even want to _think _about it. Instead he opened his mouth, panting hotly around Alfred's cock. His hands roamed across Alfred's skin, over his thighs and onto the swell of his ass and upwards to fondle his balls and shaft.

With a slobbery slurping noise, Alfred pulled Arthur's cock from his mouth and said, "I-I'm gunna… co-come – Arthur…" The American's body tensed and Arthur swallowed around Alfred's cock, taking him as far as he could without gagging. Alfred came into Arthur's mouth, broken and unintelligible words falling from his mouth as his hands tensed on Arthur's hips. And even though he was out of practice Arthur swallowed as best he could, refraining from coughing or choking on the warm fluid.

"I love you too, Alfred," Arthur said pleasantly, once he had made sure his face was clean and Alfred had relaxed back into the blankets. He crawled off of the American, instead moving to his side to trace his fingers along Alfred's muscled chest. "Feel better, poppet?"

Alfred scrunched his face up, rolling over to press his nose into Arthur's side. He wrapped an arm about the Briton's waist and pulled him closer. "I can barely move," he mumbled into Arthur's skin. "I'm… so… sorry…" He yawned, tired tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Love… you."

"I – you…?" Feeling both amused and bewildered, Arthur watched as Alfred fell asleep, his mouth hanging open slightly. Woefully Arthur glanced at his hard-on and sighed in defeat. He shimmied down in Alfred's grasp to lie next to the American and pull the blankets around their shoulders. "I hope you're more energized when you wake up," he muttered, nuzzling his face against Alfred's bicep, using it as a makeshift pillow. "I want to finish."

* * *

><p>"I don't get why you're so nervous," Alfred said as the bus made its way down the narrow road. "I've met Miss Rose before, so… I dunno, it's not like there will be a lot of surprises?"<p>

Arthur only sighed, rubbing at his face with his hands. "No, no that's not the issue here. My mother is, well. Eccentric is one word, I would think. I'm just hoping that she won't badger you too much. About… ah… things."

"Things, huh?" Alfred gave a half-smile, bumping his shoulder against Arthur's in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Do you think it could be that bad? What do ya think she's gunna do? Ask when we're gunna get married or something?"

"Exactly that." He sat back, giving Alfred a calculating look. "She's going to ask all the hard questions, Alfred. And… I'm just worried. Just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt." Arthur rubbed at his stomach for emphasis and Alfred settled his hand over Arthur's. "Something?"

Alfred stared out the window of the bus for a long while, watching the city slowly become countryside. "Hard questions…" the American repeated to himself. He stood suddenly, startling Arthur and a few other passengers. "Let's not go," he said, self-assured and smiling. "C'mon, Arthur!"

He grabbed Arthur by the arm, tugging him along the length of the bus. "Bu-but what about Mother?" he stuttered out as Alfred waved to the bus driver and asked to get off, despite the fact they weren't by any obvious stop. "Alfred! What the hell are you doing, you twit?" Arthur demanded as they stepped off the bus and onto the side of the road.

The rain had let up, leaving the air smelling rustic and dewy. Alfred tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket, glancing up at the overcast sky momentarily. "We really need to talk."

"Ah… Alfred…?" Arthur's chest squeezed in anxiety, his hands automatically moving to cover the space above his heart. "What… what about?"

The American looked back to Arthur, his brow wrinkled slightly. 'Why do you sound so worried?" He huffed, taking Arthur's hand into his and beginning to walk back towards town, his boots crunching over the grass and gravel. "You need to stop worrying all the time, you know that? I'm just… I mean… Well, okay, you know how ya said that your Ma is going to be askin' all the hard questions? Well, maybe I don't wanna answer them without going over it with you first." He smiled wearily. "And well… there's somethin' I wanted to ask you, too."

"Yes…?" Arthur jogged a bit to catch up and walk next to Alfred instead of lagging behind. His heart pattered painfully and his stomach churned with the most uncomfortable sensation, but he didn't care about the pain. It was as if his entire life hung upon the next words out of Alfred's mouth.

Alfred stared down at his feet, watching beads of water transfer from blades of grass to the leather of his worn boots. Shyly he looked up at Arthur. "I was wondering this little somethin' for a long time," he started, his fingers lacing securely between Arthur's, "and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it – the more I needed it ta happen. And I dunno, I just feel like it's kinda now or never." Alfred let loose a shuddering breath. "I also kinda wanna know where we are."

"Alfred Franklin Jones!" Arthur snapped. He stopped and yanked Alfred's arm to pull their clasped hands to his chest. Alfred's blue eyes wide and nervous as Arthur stared him down. "I don't bloody care where we are, I don't. But if you don't tell me what's going on I do believe I'm going to have some sort of heart attack." He paused, untwisting his hand to press Alfred's palm to his chest. "Can't you feel it, love? I'm sure a heart isn't meant to beat so quickly. I… I-You're frightening me… I… I'm afraid, Alfred. Please…"

"Aw, shit… Arthur." Quickly Alfred bundled Arthur into a hug, moving further away from the road in case some left-handed driver got an idea and tried to hit them. "I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry. I don't mean for ya to feel like that. I don't, really." He pushed away from Arthur, cupping the Englishman's face between his hands before leaning down and kissing him gently. "I love you," he said as their lips parted sweetly, "I love you Arthur James Kirkland, and I want you to come back to the U.S. with me."

Arthur remained quiet, his green eyes disbelieving and confused. "To America…" he repeated slowly. "Do you mean… permanently? To live there?" He blinked. "You must be absolutely nutters."

Alfred only chuckled, kissing the tip of Arthur's nose. "I didn't think you'd be too keen on it right away. Don't worry, take your time. You know I'll wait for ya forever, Arthur."

They continued down the road after that, their hands intertwined loosely as they went. Alfred watched Arthur from his peripheral vision, noting the way he scowled or shrugged at his own thoughts. Sometimes the Briton would start to form a question before stopping himself to return to his own musings. Alfred never brought it up and instead tried to let Arthur sort it out for himself, even though he desperately wanted to say something – _anything _that would convince Arthur to come back with him.

By the time they got back to Arthur's flat, their feet were sore and it had begun to rain once again. Arthur swore that his jacket smelled filthy from being on the tube for too long and Alfred merely shrugged. It was better than trying to walk the rest of the way, anyhow.

Excalibur jumped onto the sofa with Alfred as Arthur set about making tea for the evening. "Hey Arthur, is Miss Rosie going to be angry that we didn't show up today?" He scratched the orange tabby behind the ears, happily cooing about how fat and big the kitten had grown since he'd last seen him.

"No, most likely not. I only told her that we would be visiting sometime this week, not which day we would be arriving."

"Oh, okay, good. I didn't wantcha to end up in trouble or somethin' 'coz of me." He fished in the cushions for the remote and turned on the television, making sure to crank down the volume to a small whisper. "Uhm… are you sure you don't wanna go see a movie or something tonight?"

Arthur sighed from his spot at the kitchen table, his hands folded together beneath his chin. "No, it's fine. There's nothing wrong with sitting in on a rainy day."

"But it's always rainy here," Alfred mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as the newscaster on the television screen began to drone on about store sales and the up and coming spring weather. He perked up a bit. "Oh! Uhm, do you want me to make dinner, then? I can make stew, or… or grilled cheese if you want."

Arthur shook his head. "No. No it's fine; I'll take care of it."

"Oh…" Alfred deflated a little, turning his attention back to the cat in his lap. "Do you want some help with it, at least?"

"I'll be fine, thank you."

"I… Alright." Alfred ducked his head. "Do… Do you want me to sleep on the futon tonight?" he asked meekly.

Arthur looked up from the table with a jolt, the kettle whistling after a moment. The Englishman stood up quickly and pulled the kettle from the stove, setting it down and turning to give Alfred a confused look, his hands on his hips. "What are you going on about? Sleep on the futon? Why would I want that?"

Alfred coughed uncomfortably. "I just… yanno… I thought ya were mad at me. For being stupid earlier or something – for makin' us walk all the way back and stuff."

"No. No, I'm sorry, poppet. I didn't mean to make you feel that way… ah… bollocks." Arthur walked over to the sofa, leaning over the back and wrapping his arms around the American's broad shoulders. "I'm not upset with you, love. I'm not, believe you me. I'm… overwhelmed and… I want some time to think it over, if that's alright with you."

With a nod and a smile, Alfred kissed at the shell of Arthur's ear. "Of course. I toldja I'd wait forever if I had to. But sleep on it. And just remember that I'll love ya no matter what you choose."

"My sweet, wonderful, little love," Arthur breathed out, smiling despite himself and his fears and anxiety. "How about you work on your schoolwork while I make us dinner? That way you don't have to stress over it later in the week."

Alfred chuckled. "Alright, okay. Sure thing." They embraced tightly for a few long, warm seconds before Alfred stood up, Excalibur meowing in annoyance as he was removed from his sleeping spot. "I'll be in the bedroom if ya need me." Arthur nodded and Alfred made his way into Arthur's room, grabbing his suitcase from the corner and digging out his battered binder and his cellphone. After finding a pencil he tossed the binder onto the bed and glanced over his phone, unsurprised to find he had a missed text.

**[Matticus]**

**Hey, did you ask Arthur yet?**

**[Message received SAT 11:00 PM]**

He frowned, tapping his finger against the side of his phone before deciding to answer.

**[Me]**

**Yeah. Did you ask Kat?**

**[Message sent 7:45 PM]**

**[Matticus]**

**No… What did Arthur say? Since you're not blabbing away about it, I'm guessing it didn't go too well? You okay?**

**[Message received 7:45 PM]**

**[Me]**

**I'm fine. He wants to think about it. Matt, I really want him to come back with me. Real bad.**

**[Message sent 7:46 PM]**

Alfred sat on the bed, crossing his legs and opening his chemistry notes before him. Sometimes he wished relationships were as easy as math and science. Numbers didn't change on him or confuse him – one plus one would always equal two; at least in this realm of existence. He sighed. It was just… unnerving to think that everything could just end by tomorrow morning. "But it won't," he told himself as he picked up his pencil.

**[Matticus] **

**Hey Al? Not to sound like a downer… but, what will you do if he says no?**

**[Message received 7:54 PM]**

**[Me]**

**I dunno Matt. I just dont know.**

**[Message sent 7:57 PM]**

* * *

><p>That night Arthur laid awake, holding Alfred close as the American mumbled childishly in his sleep. His fingers traced over Alfred's jaw and shoulders, outlined by the pale moonlight that had broken through the light layer of clouds outside. Alfred had opened the curtains sometime while doing his schoolwork and had forgotten to shut them, but Arthur didn't mind, somehow it made watching Alfred sleep more surreal. As if it was a dream.<p>

He touched his finger to Alfred's lower lip when it jutted out petulantly. He wondered what the American could be dreaming about that brought on such a face. Alfred sighed and Arthur hesitated a moment, but smiled softly when Alfred merely snuggled closer.

"You want me to live in America with you?" he whispered into the night, mindful to Alfred's sleep. "In your little flat where you go to school? Love, I know it seems like a good idea now, but… do you really think your job will be able to support the both of us? With the way you eat?" Arthur tucked a lock of loose hair behind the blond's ear, letting his hands linger. "I would have to become a citizen to get a job – or at least a visa, you know. That could take months… I know you didn't think any of this through… but… ah… maybe you did. Maybe you actually have some plan for us, if I say yes. I wouldn't be surprised if you did."

Arthur sighed, tucking himself more comfortably against Alfred. At the very root of it all, if there was nothing material or immaterial to worry for, if he could go to bed, just like this, each night, and wake up every morning to his love's handsome face, then Arthur supposed he could live happily for the rest of his days.

Arthur woke before the sun, sitting up and suppressing a yawn. Alfred was sprawled across the bed, a hand fisted into Arthur's shirt. He touched the American's shoulder, simply beginning to stroke any exposed skin until Alfred began to rouse. "Hnn? Ar… Arthur…?" Alfred blinked, quickly gaining awareness. "I – uh! Did you… I don't mean ta pry… but…?"

Arthur smiled wide, cupping Alfred's face in his hands. He simply nodded and leaned down, kissing the love of his life soundly.

Alfred clutched at the front of Arthur's pajamas, smiling into the kiss and eventually laughing, giddy and gorgeous with the most childlike happiness. And as Alfred began to place sweet kisses along his face and hands, talking excitedly and sighing in relief, Arthur knew he had made the right choice.

* * *

><p>Alfred sat next to him at the kitchen table, his phone up to his ear as he listened carefully to what his mother was telling him. Finally he cleared his throat, his hand finding its way into Alfred's and squeezing for reassurance. "I'm glad you are well, Mother," he said, his voice beginning to quake with nerves. Alfred smiled, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the bridge of his knuckles. "I… I wished to bell you and let you know that Alfred and I will be visiting you today – y-yes, that's right; this afternoon. I… yes… I – <em>Mother<em>. Mother, we need to talk."

His green eyes found Alfred's endlessly blue ones, filled with joy and happiness, and if not a little fear.

"Mother, I'm moving to America."

- End Chapter Eighteen -

* * *

><p><em>Unimportant Notes: <em>Hi. :)

Thank you to **Trumpet-Geek **for betaing!


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Congruent

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Nineteen: Congruent_

_Important Notes:_John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium, Katya – Ukrain

* * *

><p>Arthur sighed into the fabric of Alfred's shirt, nuzzling his cheek against the American's chest as he turned his eyes back to the telly. His mother, as he had expected, was less than agreeable with his choice and had spilled lists upon lists of reasons as to why he should not go over the hour long phone conversation. Alfred had sat next to him, gently rubbing his back and arms, placing kisses on the tips of his fingers to try and relax him as he argued with his mother.<p>

"What're you thinkin' about?" Alfred asked, turning his head so he could see Arthur from his position on the couch.

Arthur only sighed again, a few choice phrases his mother had said running rampant in his mind. "What if she's right?" Arthur asked. "What if I shouldn't go? What if it ruins everything, or, or something happens and we'll never be able to fix it?"

Alfred laced his fingers between Arthur's, shifting into a slightly more comfortable position. "I don't wanna be the bearer of bad news or nothin', but she could be right." Alfred smiled, wide and sincere, as Arthur's brows furrowed in distress. "But she could also be wrong. And I'd be pretty heartbroken if ya changed your mind."

"And… and if I did, Alfred? What if I did change my mind? Would… would you…"

The American silenced Arthur by touching a finger to the blond's lips. "Whatever you decide, I'll still love you and want to be with you, Arthur. Nothin's ever gunna change that." He kissed the palm of Arthur's hand. "I hate ta say it, but you're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

Arthur chuckled, sitting up on his elbows and kissing Alfred sweetly. "I happen to like it," he murmured, kissing Alfred lazily, over and over. "A lot more than is healthy, I'm afraid."

* * *

><p>This time around they stayed on the bus for the duration of the trip, staring out the windows in a nervous silence. Alfred held Arthur's hand the entire way, their fingers rubbing together with gentle coaxing movements and reassurances.<p>

"It'll be just fine," Alfred whispered every time Arthur squeezed his hand nervously. "I'll be right there with you, it'll be okay, I promise."

The bus stopped at a small, out of the way stop next to a grassy park with dew covered playground equipment.

"It's just down the way here," Arthur mumbled, grasping the crook of Alfred's arm as they walked, occasionally nuzzling his cheek against the American's shoulder.

"Did you play here a lot when you were a kid?" Alfred decided to ask, hoping to break the nerves that had encompassed his lover.

Arthur flushed lightly, his green eyes casting over towards the ill-used playground as his grip tightened on Alfred's elbow. "Not often. Connor and Chloe came here the most, I believe. I… I enjoyed the plot of forest behind the house… Ah… I'll show it to you some time."

"I'd love to see it," Alfred said. And it was true, because he wanted to know what Arthur had loved to do when he was younger – the things that Arthur had never told him in his letters. He was excited by the idea that Arthur wanted to show him something he cherished. That's what couples did, what people in love did.

As they approached a new block, Arthur pointed out a two-story home with an orange ceramic shingled roof and windowsill gardens with flowers attempting to bloom in the foggy March weather. It was white and a bit plain, just as its neighboring houses. "That's the house I grew up in," Arthur muttered, glumly. "It's nothing special. Certainly nothing like your ranch… but…"

Alfred only smiled, nudging at Arthur with his shoulder. "Nah, I think it's pretty neat! It's gotta be nice to have neighbors this close – in case somethin' happens, right? And it looks like it came outta a story book! It's awesome!"

"You… you're just saying that." Arthur flushed, his grip on Alfred's hand tightening as they approached the house, three golden numbers on the brown door reading, _893_, the same three numbers that Alfred remembered writing on the envelopes that contained letters to his best friend.

Arthur's feet toed the doormat before he knocked on the door, ignoring the confused stare that Alfred sent his way before the doorknob twisted. The door opened slowly, revealing Arthur's mother. She wore a tight expression, but it melted quickly as Arthur's grip tightened on Alfred's hand. "Alfred dear! I didn't expect for you to come as well! What a lovely surprise! Come in, the both of you, come, come!"

Arthur sent Alfred a side-long glance. "Thank you for coming," he mouthed silently as they stepped inside the threshold.

"'Course." The house was warm, a sweet fruity scent wafted in the air and Alfred hoped some was baking. "It's real great to see you again, Miss Rosie," he said pleasantly as he took off his jacket and shoes at Arthur's behest.

"And you as well, dearie! I must say that I was not expecting the circumstances of your visit."

Arthur sighed. "Yes… about that…"

"No, no, your brother and sister are here as well, and there are tarts in the oven. Let's try and enjoy a good afternoon tea with family for once, hm? It would be delightful, don't you think?"

Alfred followed Arthur's mother further into the house, sending Arthur an optimistic, yet nervous smile. "It smells real good, Miss Rosie!"

She tittered a bit, her hands brushing against her cheeks in humble flattery. "Oh, why thank you dearie! I do pride myself in my cooking. I've been trying to teach Chloe my recipes, but she's not one to take to them very well."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, cookin' can be frustrating. I like it best when you got someone to help you." He paused to admire a neatly painted clock – the image of children playing with fairies neatly detailed onto the clock's face. "Why don't you teach Arthur your recipes? I think he's a great cook!"

There was a sudden bark of laughter and Alfred looked away from Arthur's mother to see Chloe and Connor sitting at the kitchen table, delicate looking teacups and saucers on the table before them. Connor let loose a long, amused sigh after his laughter had died down. "Arthur? Cook? Either you can't taste, or you're nutty!"

Arthur scowled. "Shut up, you windbag," he growled, taking a seat at the table. Alfred sat next to him, his fingers tracing along the grain of the thick wood of the tabletop. Arthur couldn't help but to think of all the memories that Alfred's hands were touching. Had it been the same for Alfred when he had visited the ranch? It was a strange thought.

"It's nice to see you again, Chloe, Connor," Alfred said, his smile becoming lopsided and handsome. "Long time no see."

Chloe grinned. "Aw, the strapping devil remembers us," she cooed. "I bet you remember every little thing, don't you? At least about Arthur, hm? Do you know when your anniversary is?"

Alfred glanced at Arthur, only to see his boyfriend give the same expectant look as Chloe. "Well gee, July twenty-first, but we've never been able to celebrate it together…" He frowned. "Not yet, anyway," he added as an afterthought.

Connor made a gagging noise, his freckled face wrinkling up. "You two are sickeningly sappy," he griped. "Not even Erin is that bad! And she's feckin' awful."

"Erin?" Alfred asked curiously as Arthur rolled his eyes.

Chloe sighed dramatically. "She's this tart that Connor's been with since sixth form. Won't marry her, won't leave her either. Strange business if you ask me."

"No one was askin' you!"

Arthur's mother bustled about the kitchen, pouring tea and preparing plates for warm tarts. She hummed to herself, making a few comments on how marriage and grandchildren would make for a pleasant future. Connor grumbled and Alfred hung his head. That wasn't an argument that he ever wanted to hear, no matter who it was directed at. Somehow it made him feel incapable – a failure to his family and his generation and the American government. He wasn't sure how, but it did.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Perhaps a change of subject would be best," he suggested, picking up the teacup and saucer as he mother placed it before him. He nudged Alfred with his elbow, hoping the familiar gesture would help lift the American's spirits a tad. "Chloe, you never did tell me if you received that promotion…"

Alfred listened to the conversation, answering when he was asked questions (which were mostly, "Don't you think so, too Alfred?") He praised Miss Rosie's cooking, happily eating as many tarts as she asked while still managing to lean over to Arthur and say, "I still think your cooking is the best," without getting caught.

After an hour or two of catching up and chatting about nothing in particular, Alfred and Arthur began to grow worried. They knew there was no way that they were going to leave the house without a lecture or a stern talk, or a barrage of questions, at the very least.

Finally Miss Rosie set down her teacup with a definitive sigh. "Alfred, dearie, would you mind coming into the study for a spell? I've something to show you."

"Yeah, sure thing Miss Rosie," he bumbled, standing up awkwardly and sending a paling Arthur a nervous look.

He followed Arthur's mother through the house, trudging his socked feet along the white carpets. The study smelled of must; bookshelves with sagging, wooden shelves lined three of the walls and a long desk was pushed up against the fourth. Miss Rosie sat in a wheeled chair, motioning for Alfred to stand next to her as she pulled out a thick, crackling binder from one of the desk's drawers.

Alfred did as he was told, shifting in his spot and hoping that he wasn't too close or too far away to be considered rude. "This," she said slowly as she opened the cover of the binder, the plastic sleeves inside making crinkling noises of ill use, "is the family album." Arthur's mother pointed to a faded photo of a chubby baby with a wide, toothless smile. "That's Oliver when he was but a few months old. He always had something to grin about, that one." She flipped through a few more pages, pointing at another photo. "And there is my dear John. He was a big boy, nearly thought I was given birth to a grown man when he came, I did. He was a fine man, my son. You met him, did you not?" Alfred nodded solemnly. "A great man." She flipped the page again, smiling as he showed Alfred more photos. "The twins take up half of this album, I swear. They were so photogenic. Loved the camera. See here, that's Chloe, I can already hear her saying, 'Take one of me, mummy! It's mine turn now!'"

She went through more pages, pointing out family portraits, candid shots, each one the number of children and their ages seemed to increase. Sometimes there was a man as well, sometimes not, and hardly was it ever the same one.

Her thin finger touched a photo, water damage evident on the folding corners. "That's Arthur when he was but a week old. He was my ickle Arthur; liked to grab onto your fingers and never let go. He was as bald as can be until he was about nine months old. My bald baby boy. We were so positive that he would be a ginger like his daddy. I'm glad he's not. I don't think it would much suit him."

"Wow," Alfred breathed. "Arthur was such a cute baby!" He poked the picture where Arthur's almost abnormally round cheeks were. "Look at that face," he cooed, "I bet he had one fierce pout."

Miss Rosie smiled nostalgically. "'Twas the most adorable thing you had ever seen."

They went through several more pages, all the way up to Arthur's first day of school. Miss Rosie closed the album gently, giving the cover a loving caress. "My children are precious to me," she said softly. "They're all I have in this life; they're all I will have. Promise me that if you do take my baby boy to America with you, then don't leave me out of his life. I want letters and phone calls. I want pictures of your firsts as a couple: house, jobs, marriage – whatever. And I want grandbabies… I know… it may not be as easy, but if it ever does happen – and you seem like such the type to want children… I want so many photos of them that it's shameful. Understand?"

Alfred breathed out a sigh of relief. "Oh you bet, Miss Rosie! I'll be just as excited as you when all of those things happen. I would never wanna leave you out of something so wonderful."

Miss Rosie smiled, her round eyes teary. "One last thing before I let you back out there." She cupped her hands around Alfred's face, her fingers pinching the fleshy lobes of his ears. "If you ever hurt my baby boy, I will personally see to it that you never see the light of day again. Savvy?"

The American winced in her grip, but managed to smile nonetheless. "I would never dream of it. Arthur is… he's precious to me, too."

Arthur's mother released him, patting him gently on the cheek with affection. "You really are a wonderful dear. I'm sure Arthur is safe in your care… If he truly desires to leave – I won't like it, however… I will not stop him…"

"Thank you very much, Miss Rosie," Alfred said softly, helping her to stand by offering her his hand. "Havin' your… well, blessing, it's a great feelin'." He paused. "Your opinion means the world to me – and I'm sure it goes the same for Arthur."

Miss Rosie sniffled, fanning her face with her hand for a moment before she collected herself. "Thank you lovely. Thank you so very much." She touched his cheek once more and sighed. "Let us head back, shall we?"

She led him back into the kitchen, returning to her busting activities over the pot of tea and pastries, occasionally sniffing or stopping to wipe at her face. Arthur grasped Alfred's hand as he sat back down, leaning towards the American with a perplexed expression. "Are you alright? What's wrong with Mother? Did she say anything to offend? Alfred?"

Alfred grinned lightly, trying to tone down the surge of relief and excitement and sheer _hope _that felt as if it were washing through his body. "Other than threaten my life? Nah, she didn't say nothin'… but…" His smile grew, curling in amusement. "You were the cutest little baby I ever did see, Arthur!"

The Englishman blushed brightly, shrinking back in surprise and embarrassment. "I… she... she showed you the album?"

Chloe laughed nervously. "Mum… you didn't… well, didn't show him _everything_ did you?"

Arthur's mother smiled widely, her eyes crinkling in the corners. "Why of course I did, dearie," she said, wiping down the counters before rejoining them at the table. Chloe flushed, her reddening face clashing with the copper color of her hair. "No need to be embarrassed, my sweet! You were a gorgeous child."

Alfred chuckled. He was pretty sure he knew where Arthur had gotten his penchant for pet names. "Don't worry, I won't tell no one about the bathtub photo shoot."

Connor and Chloe both choked on seemingly nothing. "_Mum_!"

Miss Rosie only laughed behind a hand. The conversation dwindled and Alfred looked to Arthur's wristwatch. "We really oughta head back or we'll miss that bus."

Arthur perked up in his seat and checked the time for himself. "Blasted… you're right, love. It was lovely to see you, mother. Connor, Chloe… a pleasure as always." Miss Rosie stood to kiss Arthur and Alfred in turn, taking a few moments to whisper something into Arthur's ear before bidding them farewell.

The American chose to ignore the secrecy for the time being, saying nothing as they left the comfortable house. Arthur checked his watch again, mumbling numbers under his breath. He wrapped his hand into the crook of Alfred's elbow and pulled him in the opposite direction of the bus stop.

"Arthur?" Alfred questioned as they made their way down the cracking sidewalk and around the block corner. "What about the bus?"

"We can take the final bus," Arthur replied, sounding distracted and anxious. He pulled at the collar of his shirt with two fingers. "I must show you something." Arthur looked into Alfred's face, his green eyes bright and open. "It's my… special place."

Alfred nodded in understanding, pulling Arthur closer and wrapping his around around the Briton's shoulders. They walked together in a companionable silence. Arthur snuggled into the leather of Alfred's jacket and smiled, his feet following the too familiar path off the sidewalk and onto a dirt trail that was no more than a small line cut into the manicured grass. Alfred watched the trail intently. The ones behind the ranch weren't nearly as narrow, beaten down over the years by the wide hooves of horses and cattle alike. This path seemed so frail in comparison; almost completely disappearing once it hit the woodland.

"This is the forest I spoke of," Arthur said gently. He broke off from the trial, easily picking his way around gnarled and skinny trees and brush, his and Alfred's fingers entwined as they moved through the forest. The trees grew thicker and thicker as they went, the orange sunlight leaving glowing speckles on the ground.

Arthur stopped suddenly, releasing Alfred's hand to touch the mossy bark of a massive tree. "I used to come here every day," Arthur began, inspecting the tree with fondness. "I would read – there are grooves in the roots here, see. It made for an excellent chair when I was younger. This is where I came to get away." He smiled at Alfred. "As you may have noticed, my siblings can be less than tolerable when together."

Alfred hummed; there was a small smile on his lips as he touched the bark of the tree, letting his knuckles graze across the soft, dewy mosses. "I don't have siblings, but I know what it feels like to want some peace 'n quiet." On the ground he spotted a gentle dip in the ground between two thick, gnarled roots. "How much time do we gave before the next bus?"

Puzzled, Arthur frowned as he checked his watch. "Thirty minutes, why?"

"Awesome!" Alfred clambered into the shallow dip, the roots poking at his hipbones, but it wasn't too uncomfortable. "Come an' sit with me," he said, fixing his posture and patting the leaf covered ground between his knees.

Arthur made an amused noise and shaking his head. "My trousers will get dirtied," he protested. "And I'm sure the ground is damp from the rain we had recently."

With a grimace, Alfred shifted slightly, ignoring the way Arthur smirked at him. "Aw, c'mon Arthur! Live a little! You said you did it all the time as a kid. What's so bad about doin' it now?" Alfred pouted, doing his best to look cute – or at least he _hoped _it was cute. "You can sit on my lap if you want?" he tried.

"You're impossible," Arthur said with a huff, giving up the argument and climbing between the American's knees, his back pressing against Alfred's chest. "I'll sit here. Don't want to excite you too much, now do I?"

Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur, rocking back and forth in a loving rhythm. "Well darn," he whispered. Alfred smiled slowly. "But still… this is a nice place." He nuzzled his cheek against Arthur's ear.

The Briton shuddered as Alfred's breath tickled the side of his face. "I… I'm glad you think so." They sat together for a while, simply sharing heat. Alfred pressed a moist kiss to the back of Arthur's neck and the Englishman's fingers curled into the cuffs of Alfred's sleeves. "Do… do you think we're doing the right thing?" he questioned briefly, his eyes traveling up to stare at the rustling canopy above them.

"Do you think it's the wrong thing?"

"Point taken." Arthur let his head fall back onto Alfred's shoulder so he could eye the sandy blond through half lidded eyes. "I guess I'm nervous over the entire thing. It's one thing to visit America, but to live there?" He pulled Alfred's arms around him tighter. "It's strange to think about – about it actually happening. I've dreamt about it, but reality…"

Alfred sighed through his nose. "I know how you feel. I had the same thoughts, you know? Thought about moving here with you instead of going to school, but I knew you wouldn't agree to that." Smiling his dimple deepened smile, Alfred squeezed Arthur close and relented. "You were always so adamant about me having a good future – and is all I wanted was you in it. I've always known I'm gunna be a rancher, I'm okay with that – happy, even, knowin' I got a place in life. I'm just worried that that's not what _you _want for your future. That's all."

"I'm going to say something," Arthur started, swallowing thickly, his adam's apple rising and falling with the motion, "And it will be awful – you know how I am with the cheesy, corny mutterings that you're so adept in." A small smile twitched onto his lips. "When we were leaving mother whispered into my ear. She said, _'Follow your heart, love. Your brain is a bit numb, don't you agree?' _And well… you've my heart, Alfred. I'll go where you go, whether it be America or Mexico or wherever you can conjure. I won't regret a moment of it."

The American was silent for a long time, only the sounds of their breath and the light breeze winding through the trees were to be heard. Finally Alfred spoke, "We'll be a team," he said, his goofy smile in place as he rubbed his cheek against Arthur's. "I'll be like Batman and you can be Robin and we'll work together and overcome fucking everything and we'll be inseparable and in love – although I don't think Batman and Robin were like that, but we totally are 'coz we'll be better than Batman and Robin! It'll be you and me forever and ever, just kicking ass and having great sex!"

"You are absolutely impossible!" Arthur squawked out, sitting up and trying to send Alfred a glare, although he couldn't rid himself of the amusement that tugged on the corners of his lips. "Batman and Robin? Well I never… And why must I be Robin? Why can't _I _be Batman, hm?"

Alfred stuttered and fumbled over excuses as they both started to stand, grimacing at the dampness on the seats of their pants. "W-well of course you can't be Batman… 'coz… just because."

"Aha! See you can't even think of a decent reason." Arthur dusted off his shirt with a self-satisfied smirk and Alfred couldn't help but to shake his head fondly.

"Well at least you didn't disagree with the great sex part." Arthur scoffed, punching Alfred on the shoulder in retaliation. "Okay, okay!" Alfred breathed in through his nose, staring up into the canopy for a moment. "Hey, Arthur? We'll came back here again someday, won't we?" he asked, taking the Briton's hand into his own.

Puzzled, Arthur frowned. "I… I would hope so. Why?"

"I just…" Alfred shrugged. "I like those future promises, yanno? It makes it seem… like everything's gunna be alright." He sent his lover a tentative smile. "It just feels good."

Their entwined hands swung back and forth as they left the forest, walking down the sidewalk and to the bus stop with light hearts and high hopes, even as the sky clouded over and the rain began to pour.

* * *

><p>Francis frowned around the lip of his wineglass, his brows falling in concentration as he tried to comprehend everything Arthur told him in the rowdy din of the pub. "You've decided to move to America?" he repeated slowly, as if maybe he'd misheard Arthur somewhere along the line.<p>

"Yes. It's absolutely crazy, I know, but Francis, I'm entirely thrilled and scared and happy. It's such an odd feeling." Arthur grasped at his shirt over his chest. "This might just be the best decision of my life."

The Frenchman raised his brows. "Oh?" He smiled genially. "It sounds to me as if _l'amour _has stricken you deeply. It is a beautiful feeling, is it not?" Arthur picked up his glass of whiskey, swirling it around a bit before taking a gulp. "Speaking of Americans, where is your little lover? Hm? I didn't think he left for another three days."

Arthur flushed slightly. "Ah… yes he's at my flat. Had to finish an assignment he said. Although I'm sure he just wanted to give me some space and the chance to speak with you alone… A right thoughtful bo– man he is." He took the last swig of his drink with a sigh, his breath hissing through his teeth. "Scotch, if you would please, bartender!"

"I didn't think you would be up to drinking so much tonight," Francis said in good humor. "What would Alfred think to find you stumbling home drunk, giddy, and flushed – ah, you must be doing this on purpose, you dog."

"Shut your mouth, frog."

Francis guffawed, swirling his wine within his glass as he watched Arthur sip at his new scotch. "Well, at least tell me how long I have to enjoy your pleasurable company."

Arthur stared into his glass. "'Bout a month. I have a feeling Excalibur isn't going to take well to the flight. I'm just glad he can come with me in my carryon."

"That cat…" Francis sighed. He couldn't think of anything to say, not anything that he was willing to say at any rate. His best friend was leaving – to live a better, loving life with his boyfriend no less. He took a longer drink of his wine. Something inside him felt a bit broken.

* * *

><p>"I'm home, love!" Arthur shouted as he opened the door of his flat. Francis had brought him as far as the lift, placing a stern hand on his shoulder before bidding the pleasantly drunk blond farewell.<p>

Alfred startled from his lying position on the sofa, wiping sleep from his eyes and pushing his glasses back onto his face. "Arthur… uh… are you drunk?" he asked, blinking rapidly as Arthur leaned over the back of the sofa to kiss him wetly.

"Not terribly so, no," Arthur answered grinning and kissing Alfred once again. "Although I really wanted to say that. That thing about being home. Can't wait to hear that and say that every day."

The American chuckled, his fingers finding their way into Arthur's mussed hair. "Me either."

Arthur frowned suddenly. "I need a good wank."

"Ya – you!" Alfred blustered, choking on a laugh. "Why have a wank when you can have a _shag_?" he asked with a horribly fake accent, wiggling his brows suggestively and pulling the Englishman down onto him.

They laughed together, exchanging sloppy kisses and writhing together. The future never looked so bright.

- End of Chapter Nineteen -

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you everyone for your patience (if you haven't read this on my LJ already). I've been reluctant to upload anything here, but here it is. :U Forgive my hesitation.

Also if you see any mistakes please tell me! :o


	21. Chapter Twenty: Inclusion

**He's a Keeper**

_Chapter Twenty: Inclusion _

The transition from England to America had been difficult, but Arthur was surprised at how well Alfred had managed to make him as comfortable as possible. When he arrived at Alfred's cozy flat, there was a litter box for Excalibur, a safe for all of Arthur's important documents (especially the ones that kept him _in _the country), and even an electric kettle plugged in next to Alfred's coffee pot.

He had been tired and sore, but most of all he had been grateful that it was finally happening; they were taking the next step in their relationship, and it was heartwarming to see all the effort his lover went through to make him feel at home. Alfred had waited on his every beck and call, taking his suitcase and adding it to the unpacked pile of boxes that had been mailed previously (he had played it smart and mailed the lighter things, and brought the more heavy things onto the airline with him, even still it had cost him a pretty penny). The American had kissed him senseless and carried him to the bed, rubbing his shoulders and feet until he was a sleepy puddle and ended up dozing the rest of the day away.

"So, how are you feelin'?" Alfred asked him. It was late April, the wind was damp and cold and Alfred had left a window cracked open for fresh air, forgetting to close it as the late Friday evening began to settle over the small town. Alfred pushed a mug of hot tea towards Arthur, looking worried and grateful all at once. "How's your stomach?"

Arthur wrapped his fingers around the mug, breathing in the wafting steam from the liquid and relaxing. "It's fine, poppet, I assure you." He had only been America for half a week, unpacking and filing paperwork and speaking to immigration representatives. It felt so surreal, and while Alfred was away at class or working in the small mechanic shop for extra money, Arthur would unpack his boxes slowly, going over each item and wondering if he would have to put it back in that box any time soon. "You do wonders for my nerves."

Alfred smiled widely, reaching across the table to brush his hand against Arthur's. "I'm tryin'. I don't want you ta feel uncomfortable or not welcome or anything! This is your place just as much as it is mine." He smiled his dimple deepened smile, just staring at Arthur and sighing happily. "I'm just… I almost can't believe you're actually _here_. Forever; for good. Yanno?"

"I know exactly how you feel. I can scarcely believe it myself." Arthur smiled over the lip of his mug before taking a long sip. Alfred had gotten better at preparing a good cup of tea. "I think what I'm more worried about is you, love. You're always working – I just… I worry that you might be pushing yourself too hard."

The American coughed and dipped his head. "Aw shucks, Arthur. I'm not workin' all that hard – I've seen worse days. But… I dunno, it seems now that you're here; I'm countin' down the seconds until I get to come home and see you again. I mean, you're here all by yourself and I just feel bad that I can't be here ta keep you company and… well yeah." He fidgeted in his chair and scratched the bridge of his nose. "I mean, I know you're alright by yourself and stuff, but well – I mean, I want you to meet my friend here at school. I'm sure you guys'll get along and maybe then you won't be so lonely when I'm not around 'coz you'll have a friend and -"

"Alfred, love, dearest, calm down." He chuckled lightly and gripped one of Alfred's outstretched hands. "So you'd like me to meet one of your friends. Alright. I'd love to."

A relieved sigh fell from Alfred's lips. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

Arthur made a show of thinking very hard, only stopping to laugh when Alfred began to whine in protest. "Yes, yes, but I never tire of hearing it."

"I could tell ya all day, but I think I'd rather _show _you."

Arthur's tea went cold and forgotten; the night spent writhing between the sheets of Alfred's bed – _their _bed.

* * *

><p>That weekend Alfred had intended for them to visit the ranch, but after much deliberation, Alfred decided against it, much to Arthur's surprise. "He's probably busy with Gilbert," Alfred said, tossing his cellphone onto the short couch in his open spaced living room. "They should be working on replacing some of the fence posts in the south field. So we'd prolly be in the way." Arthur frowned. More like <em>he <em>would be in the way. "And Kiku's free today and tomorrow, but not next weekend, so it works out better this way anyhow!"

"And… Kiku is your friend?" he asked hesitantly, and when Alfred nodded enthusiastically, he said dryly, "Most of your friends seem to have the strangest of names…"

Alfred laughed. "Ah, yeah. Kiku is an exchange student from Japan. He's going to be here until December… but I dunno. I'll be sad when he goes back to Japan." He snuffed at his nose and shrugged. "But yeah, I don't wanna think about that right now. He's gunna be coming over in a couple of hours, but you know if he seems real quiet or anything, it's just 'coz that's the way he is – no offense or anythin'."

"Ah, that's fine. I don't know why you think I'd take offense?" Arthur picked up a near-empty box, pulling out a handful of hangers that he'd forgotten to put in Alfred's closet. "Also, I'm glad to see these boxes dwindling. I've lost 'Bur in them several times. I think he's still mad at me for that on board flight…"

"He's a cat. Cats ignore everyone." But when Arthur sent him a quick glare, Alfred laughed with an unsure smile. "Want me to help you unpack while we have time? Get ridda the boxes and all that."

"That would be lovely, and dare I say, deserve a reward?" He smiled mischievously, pressing a finger to his lower lip. Alfred perked up and pried the empty box from Arthur's fingers to throw away, leaning in close to hopefully steal a kiss, but Arthur leaned away with a chuckle. "Now, now, the point of a reward is to issue it _after _the work is done, love."

Alfred pouted and broke down the box so it lied flat. "Well… can't I just have one to get me started? You know, for some extra motivation."

The American looked absolutely cheeky and Arthur sighed in disbelief. "What? You need one _right now_? A promise of kisses later means nothing?" Arthur picked up another box and opened it; more clothes.

"You're so mean." Alfred sidled up next to him, pulling out a suit set covered in plastic from the box and draped it over an arm. "Don'tcha know by now? I want kisses from you _all _the time." He let his chin fall to Arthur's shoulder, his nose tickling against the Englishman's ear. "I want kisses now, later, and next week and yesterday and fifty years from now." Alfred placed a dry kiss to Arthur's cheek, standing up straight with a grin. "Is that so bad?"

Arthur turned loving green eyes onto Alfred, setting the box down onto the ground carefully and reaching out to touch the American's face. And suddenly he realized, as his fingers brushed against the sun loved skin along the apple of Alfred's cheek, that no longer would he have to reach out only to touch the flat screen of his computer. No longer would he have to spend lonely nights thinking about what he'd like to do or say to his lover, wishing he could just hold the American close and never ever have to say goodbye ever again.

He could feel himself choke up, his happiness welling up from the very cradle of his stomach. "No… no it's perfectly alright," Arthur managed to rasp out, his hands sliding behind Alfred's neck.

"Arthur? Are you okay? You look like you're gunna cry all a sudden." His free hand came up to cup Arthur's cheek, his thumb rubbing beneath Arthur's eye gently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Arthur leaned forward and touched his lips to Alfred's, kissing the American's lower lip softly and then sighed. "In fact, everything is _right_. So very right." His hands slid down to wrap around Alfred's shoulders, pulling him into a hug and tucking his nose into the crook of Alfred's neck. "I never want to say farewell to you ever again."

Alfred dropped the suit he was holding onto the floor by their feet to hold Arthur closer. "Then don't."

They stood in their honeyed embraced for a long time, simply rocking back and forth and giving each other reassuring squeezes and pats until Arthur thought he was going to drown in the thick atmosphere of the room. He pulled away with a sniff, patting Alfred on the face before wiping at his own. There were no tears, just a frog in his throat and an overwhelming feeling of belonging. "We should… ah, get back to work. Your friend should be over soon and I'd hate for him to see this mess."

"Yeah." Without warning Alfred kissed the tip of Arthur's chin. "I love you."

"I love you too, poppet," he responded with a happy breath. He didn't think he would ever say goodbye to this man again.

* * *

><p>At first Kiku confused Arthur. The Japanese student was quiet, just like Alfred said, but he always seemed to be thinking about something, his dark eyes sliding from the television screen to Arthur and then back. Arthur tried not to let it bother him and instead pretended to be interested in watching Alfred play whichever game they had chosen. But even still he found he couldn't focus on the zombie slaying on the television screen.<p>

He wished Kiku would say something, because as much as he reveled in the quiet, this was becoming far too uncomfortable. "So Kiku, uhm, what do you study?" he asked desperately when the match on the video game ended and Kiku set down his controller.

"Graphic Design," he answered and Arthur had to concentrate on his words, deciphering the accent and allowing the words to digest. It reminded him vaguely of his attempts to understand his old boss, Yao, when he was upset. Kiku's dark eyes bored heavily into Arthur and he finally said, "You are Ahfred's… ah..." Kiku's face creased in thought for a moment. "Husband?"

Alfred choked on nothing, grabbing Arthur and pulling the Englishman's head to his chest in a panic, as if to protect him from such an absurd statement. "No! I – I mean, he's not my husband. No-not yet, or well, I mean, oh my God. Arthur is my _boyfriend_ Kiku!"

"I did not mean to offend. I guessed the wrong word." Quickly Kiku leaned away from them both, his hands up and palms facing forward. "I'm sorry."

Arthur didn't know if was appropriate to laugh at that given moment, but an amused chuckle escaped his lips as he pried himself from Alfred's grip. "No offense taken. But, well I suppose I'm surprised that Alfred told you of our relationship."

"Ah, yes. A rong time ago… I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortabor…"

"No of course not!" Arthur stood up, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper to his elbows and huffing with determination. "In fact we've been horrid hosts, allow me to amend that. Kiku would you like anything to drink? Do you like tea? I've quite the selection to choose from, if you'd like."

Kiku hesitated, picking up his controller and twirling the joystick beneath his thumb. "If I may… ah, do you have green teas?"

Arthur tapped his chin. "Yes, I believe we do. Just wait here, I'll go on ahead and make it. You two enjoy your game."

After a few minutes of decapitating zombies in a companionable silence, Kiku turned to Alfred with a tiny smile and said, "I rike him."

"I told'ja you would."

* * *

><p>Alfred's toes dug into the blankets of the bed, rocking back and forth as Arthur's fingers traced along the muscles of his thighs. The night was cold and Alfred had a blanket draped over his shoulders, their sighs and moans making the air in the room thick and warm. Alfred arched his back, letting his hands find purchase on Arthur's thighs behind him, pushing himself upwards and falling back down the length of Arthur's cock.<p>

"Hnn, shit…" Alfred cursed softly, gasping as he continued to ride Arthur doing his best to keep his voice down as to not disturb his downstairs neighbors. "I'm – I'm gettin' so, auh…"

Arthur's hands spread across his stomach, his fingers inching down until they dragged over his erection, grasping it and beginning to pump along the shaft. "Go on, now," Arthur said airily, biting his lower lip and dragging it through his teeth. Alfred bounced up and down without rhythm, his face flushed, and words chopped and hoarse. He came with a silent groan, his knees buckling around Arthur waist before falling down onto Arthur, the Englishman's cock slipping out of him with a sticky noise.

He carded his fingers through Alfred's sweaty hair, placing dry kisses to his lover's forehead before asking, "Are you ready for the finish?"

Alfred chuckled and rolled off of Arthur, relocating himself to the blankets and raising his hips into the air with his face into a pillow. "Yep," was his cheeky response.

"You…" Arthur chuckled as he climbed behind Alfred, carefully guiding his cock back into Alfred's entrance and pushing himself in deep. His arms wound around Alfred's torso, hands coming upwards to grasp at the metal chain around Alfred's neck. "I can't believe you still wear this," Arthur breathed out against the American's back, the pads of his fingers rubbing against the glossed metal of Alfred's dog tags – the same ones that Arthur had bought him nearly two years ago on a whim.

"'Course I do." Alfred pushed against Arthur. "Are you gunna screw me or what?"

Arthur dropped his forehead to Alfred's back, beginning to pick up a quick rhythm as he kissed at the skin before him. When he bought those dog tags, never did he even _dream_ that he would be right here; doing this with someone he loved so dearly and tenderly. He had been so blindsided by this love, and if he could go back to the very first day that he began to think of Alfred as maybe more than a friend – he wouldn't change a single thing.

Everything was absolutely perfect just the way it was.

* * *

><p>Alfred's father had greeted him enthusiastically when they finally found the time to visit, three weeks after Arthur's move. They were welcomed inside and sat down at the kitchen table, out of the late April chill. Arthur had been shocked and confused, shaking Alfred Sr.'s hand as vigorously as he could. "So this is it, huh? Yer gunna stay here?" he asked with a worried crease in his brow.<p>

Arthur looked to Alfred before responding. "That's my intention, yes." He opened his mouth to say something more, but closed it again when he couldn't think of anything at all.

Alfred's pa looked between the two of them, seeming conflicted but unsure, his flaxen hair golden in the orange kitchen light. "I guess… I'm jus' happy that you're gunna be serious about this whole thing." It was late on a Saturday evening and Alfred Sr. cracked open a can of beer and handed it to Arthur. "I know I ain't got no right to tell you two how to live yer lives – and Alfred I know yer gunna be twenty here in a couple months, you're an adult but it's jus'…" He paused, drawing in a long breath in preparation. "I'm sure your Ma would be proud of ya – both of ya. So, I guess I am, too."

"Aw shit, Pa." Alfred hid his face in his hands, peeking through the gaps of his fingers to look at the clock on the wall. Arthur thought the American looked like he was torn between crying and laughing. "You… you don't gotta go all mushy on us."

"I know." Alfred Sr. pursed his lips for a moment. "I just… wanted ta say it now, 'coz, well, I was thinkin'… You know Gilbert, right Arthur?"

Arthur's brows furrowed in confusion, taking a sip of the watery beer before shaking his head. "I don't believe I've met him, no. But I've heard of him often."

"He's a good family friend," he said, prying open the tab on his own beer. "Alfred you remember that he had that woman back in… what country was it?"

"Hungary. Elizaveta I think her name is."

"Yeah, that's the one. Gil came over the other week, drunk as a skunk an' jus' grovelin'. I was worried n' all, but ya know he's been waitin' for this woman to come to the U.S. for well around five years. And then he got this letter in the mail… it wasn't pretty."

Alfred's blue eyes caught Arthur's for a moment from across the table. "What do you mean? Pa, what happened?"

With a long, uncomfortable groan, Alfred Sr. took a drink and set the can down onto the table. "It turns out that 'bout three years ago, this woman got knocked up by some guy and ended up marryin' him and had two more kids. That whole time she didn't wanna tell Gil, 'coz… I don't know why ta be honest. Maybe she was afraid of hurtin' him, or thought maybe she could get away – I dunno, either way he was fuckin' mess, and I just thought… it's so easy ta lie like that and… I worried fer ya Alfred. I know I didn't have a reason to, but still. I'm jus'… glad it didn't turn out like that."

Arthur and Alfred sat in an astonished silence as Alfred Sr. picked up his beer to drink at it once again. "I can't believe it," Alfred whispered at long last. "That whole time? She had kids and a husband and everything? That's just… what? Is Gil gunna be okay?"

"Yeah, I think. I think he saw it comin' yanno? But still, it's downright awful. He's been spendin' a lot of time with Antonio and Father Feli to take his mind off things, but you know how it is." He sighed and sat up. "Anyway, why don't you two get settled? Church in the mornin' and I know Feli wants ta see ya both again."

Alfred looked down at his boots as his father left the kitchen, heading to his own room with the can of beer in hand. "This is just… it's crazy – I can't wrap my head around that," Alfred told Arthur, standing up slowly and leaning onto the table with a frown. "I mean… how can you be so… dishonest? I just – poor Gilbert…"

"Perhaps. I can understand why she would do such a thing, I think. I've done it myself, you know." Arthur pushed his can of beer away – he'd dispose of it in the morning – and stood, taking Alfred's hand into his own and leading him off to Alfred's old room.

"What?" Alfred paused in his steps, but Arthur continued to tug him along until they were within the confines of Alfred's room. "What do you mean? Arthur?"

The Englishman cocked his head to the side. "Why do you look so worried? I simply meant… the withholding of information like that. Just… remember I never told you I was gay? Not until – well, you remember. It's just… far easier to reign yourself in and pretend when you're simply writing letters and such." He smiled lightly. "I suppose that's what makes us a bit more special than others. I was never dishonest with you or you with me."

"I guess." Alfred made a hopeless sound. "I still feel bad, yanno. I mean… what Pa was sayin' – that coulda been _us _and –"

He was cut off by a simple kiss from Arthur. "No use in thinking about such things," he said softly. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm tired and I'd rather be awake tomorrow morning when we see your pastor again. So… if you don't mind…"

Alfred chuckled and grabbed the day bag they had brought for a change of clothes, unzipping it and pulling out their pajamas for the night. "Alright, alright. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you either way."

* * *

><p>Listening to the long sermons wasn't exactly Arthur's favorite thing, but he had to give props to Feliciano for making it bearable. He had been greeted by Toris, spending the few minutes before the sermon amiably catching up. He sat between Alfred and a young woman with loose braids in her hair – she looked familiar, but Alfred didn't introduce them and Arthur simply shrugged it off, instead watching Alfred's finger drift across the pages of the old, timeworn hymnbooks. It was a nostalgic feeling and Arthur found that, even though he didn't believe exactly what was being preached, there was something wholesome about it – and for that, he could appreciate it.<p>

"It was great to see you again, Arthur," Toris said as everyone began leaving for the day, "If you guys are ever in town let me know. We could hang out and watch movies or whatever you'd like, okay?"

"That sounds brilliant." Arthur smiled, shaking the brunet's hand once more in farewell before turning back to Alfred. "Well, should we go –"

"Alfred! Arthur! It's so wonderful to see you here!" Father Feliciano rounded up on them, smiling genially and grabbing Alfred by the wrist. "Arthur if you have a moment, I'd like to speak to Alfred in private."

Arthur, somewhat confused, nodded and watched as Feliciano dragged Alfred back to one of rooms in the back. He shrugged and turned back to the crowds, hoping to find someone familiar.

"What's going on?" Alfred asked when Feliciano shut them in his small office, normally used for speaking to visitors to the church and discussing fundraisers.

Feliciano smiled widely, his brown eyes nearly shut with the force of his grin as he picked up a single piece of paper from the desktop. "Do you by any chance remember that story I told you all that time ago? About the one thing I've always regretted not doing?"

Alfred frowned, scratching at the back of his head. "Uh, well, yeah I sure do. But… why'd you drag me all the way in here?"

He thrust the paper towards Alfred, the pastor's hands shaking with an unbridled excitement. "I did as you said, Alfred. I did it. I wrote him and… and – he wrote me back! He remembers me and oh! My heart almost exploded! His name is Ludwig, and he has two children – two sons, and he's widowed and… oh he says he missed me all these years and Alfred I – I can't begin to thank you enough for this." Feliciano's voice caught and he pulled the paper to his chest. "I'm so happy this happened."

Alfred smiled and pulled his pastor into a tight hug. He knew the feeling all too well, and with confidence he said, "Then is all you gotta do is keep writing, and be honest. If he keeps writing you back, well… then you'll know that he's a keeper."

- End -

* * *

><p><em>Unimportant Notes: <em>Ahhh my gosh and this is it! Thank you so much everyone! I never expected anyone would like this when I tacked up the very first chapter, and even now I'm just… very overwhelmed. You are all fabulous and just so great! I don't think I could ever thank you all enough. :D

I hope that you all enjoy the future works that I ever decide to put up just as much as you did this one. Until then, _thank you_!


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